To Build a Home
by cathedralsinmyheart
Summary: Stiles and Derek have adopted adorable blue-eyed toddler Isaac Lahey and the stress of helping him through the remnants of his abusive past homelife is threatening to tear them apart. Can the two build the home and family they've always wanted, or will it crumble before they even get started?
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:** This work is a collaborative project between werelite and myself (cathedralsinmyheart). It is based off of a RP that we started a few weeks back and the song "To Build a Home" by Cinematic Orchestra. It is also a response to thepackwantsthed's baby!Isaac AU prompt on Tumblr. Comments and critiques are welcome. Thanks for reading. :)

* * *

"You told me that this trip was only going to be for two days," Stiles whisper-yelled into the phone the morning of Christmas Eve, afraid to startle their three-year-old, Isaac, who was watching a movie in the living room. "We're on day four here, Derek!"

"We're just working a few last minute things out with the account. I'll be home for Christmas, Stiles. I promise that I'll be home for Christmas," Derek assured him as took a minute in the bathroom of corporate to fix his tie in the mirror.

"I have all of these people coming over tomorrow and I can't get everything done by myself. And Isaac's got a cold so I've been giving him breathing treatments every four hours like clockwork," Stiles whispered, taking a shaky breath in as he pinched his nose. The stress of being on his own for the past few days, working full time, decorating, and tending to a sick child finally taking its toll.

"This is the biggest account I've ever been involved with and it's bringing in a lot more money than usual. I could get a promotion if everything goes smoothly today. I can't just up and leave, Stiles! You know that. We've talked about this before," Derek argued.

"When's your flight," Stiles sighed and asked as he pushed a hand through his hair, afraid to know the answer.

"Two o'clock your time. I should be home by four as long as the snow here in Chicago holds out."

"Just get home safe, okay?"

"Gotta go. Love you," Derek said quickly, disconnecting the call before Stiles could even answer back.

He let the phone fall back into its cradle by the stairs and rubbed his face to stay awake, oven timer beginning to sound, the short beeps reminding him that there were two pies ready to be pulled and cooled. With a deep breath he went for the kitchen, stopping just long enough to catch Isaac propped up with pillows on the couch to make his breathing easier, eyes drooping in exhaustion as Moon, their husky, cuddled with the toddler. _I need you here_, _Derek, _he mumbled as he turned and leaned his forehead against the kitchen wall with another deep breath, hoping that he had the strength to keep the act up for just a few more hours.

x

The snow was heavy by the time Derek's flight was scheduled to leave Chicago, causing his flight to be delayed by five hours, which left him standing alone at the arrivals section of LAX at nine thirty. He ended up calling a cab, not wanting Stiles to pull Isaac out in the rainy weather that was starting to build up. He knew things were shaky between them, that leaving him alone for nearly a week with Isaac battling a cold wasn't fair, especially since Stiles had had a full workweek himself and they were hosting Christmas for all of their friends and family the very next day.

Still, as the cab pulled away, he quietly unlocked the door and lifted his small suitcase over the saddle lip, smiling when he noticed that the house was dark but that the bright lights of the Christmas tree were enough to cast a rainbowed reflection across the stairwell in front of him. As he made his way into the living room, he saw that Stiles and Isaac were passed out on the couch, the toddler belly-down on Stiles' chest, both breathing slow and even. Derek had to take a picture, updating his Facebook with the caption: Love that this is what I came home to this Christmas.

He kneeled down beside the couch and softly placed a hand on Stiles' shoulder, his husband's eyes blinking open and adjusting to the light, finally catching with Derek's. "Shh," Derek instructed, nodding towards Isaac, who he slowly lifted off of Stiles and pulled against himself, a few half-asleep coughs escaping from the small child as Derek held him close and kissed him on the forehead.

"He tried to wait up for you," Stiles said, voice low as he followed Derek, still in his suit and tie, slowly up the stairs.

"If you're trying to make me feel guilty about this past week, just stop," Derek commanded, trying to keep his tone down. "I just spent the last twelve hours working my ass off and hurrying to get home to see you guys. I'm exhausted and the last thing I need is your attitude right now!"

"He did a treatment about a half hour ago, so he should be good until about three," Stiles yawned and stretched, purposely ignoring Derek's anger as they stopped in the entranceway to Isaac's room. "I'm going to bed," he said, turning away before Derek could even answer, knowing that it would leave enough of a mark.


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Note:** Thank you for the reviews, favorites, and follows! Critiques and reviews are more than welcome. :)

* * *

At first, Derek thought that the murmur that had pulled him from the depths of sleep was just that of Stiles beside him, some typical mid-night babble that his husband was famous for. He'd rolled over, sighed, and let his eyelids close, drifting quickly back into the dream he'd been having.

But the deep, croupy coughs that followed and echoed down the hallway and from the baby monitor on his nightstand had him fighting the tangle of covers around him. "Isaac," he announced loudly enough to wake Stiles, who scrambled out of bed and followed him.

Derek didn't have to flip the light switch to know their three year old son was in the throes of an asthma attack, cheeks red and stained with tears from fighting for breath, body hunched in the fetal position as his airways spasmed and caused him to cough between wheezy inhales. The inhaler and spacer were in Derek's hands before Stiles could even turn Isaac's blue whale lamp on, the one they'd bought just after they got the phone call that Isaac was going to be theirs. Once the light was on, Stiles could see that Isaac was crying and gasping at the same time, panic in his sweet blue eyes enough to make Stiles' heart ache as he pulled him into his lap.

"Relax, Isaac. It's okay," Derek soothed as he shook the inhaler and connected it to the spacer, fitting the mask on the toddler's tiny face. "Just breathe, baby boy. It'll be over soon," he cooed as he gave Isaac two puffs of the medication, finally deciding on a third just in case. Stiles cradled Isaac in his arms, gently pushing his tiny blonde curls out of his face as he inhaled the medicine through shaky breaths.

"He didn't fight the medicine this time," Stiles smiled once Isaac's coughing slowed, breathing still ragged but albuterol obviously taking its desired effect.

"I think he knew it would help. Sounds congested, doesn't he?" Derek frowned, feeling Isaac's forehead and cheek.

"He's warm," Stiles agreed as he did the same, watching as Derek got up and pulled the baby thermometer from the top drawer of Isaac's dresser. He gently placed the thermometer in the toddler's ear, Isaac wincing in pain before he started to cry again, breaths becoming hiccups as Stiles held him still. When the number 102.1 flashed in red, Derek sighed heavily and rubbed his face, knowing they'd be spending at least the next twelve hours in the hospital.

"Go warm the car up. I'll pack some things," Stiles said, the exhaustion in his voice too obvious to ignore as he stood up and rocked the feverish toddler from side to side.

x

If Derek had learned anything in their four months with Isaac, it was that the child hated stimulation. And hospitals, he'd realized early on, were the worst, the fluorescent lighting, noisy waiting rooms, and general amount of people too much for a child that flinched at your every move to handle.

"His oxygen levels are a little low and his wheezing concerns me. How long has he had the cough?" the short brunette doctor who had introduced herself as Dr. Laska asked as she listened to Isaac's chest. Derek looked over to Stiles for an answer, unable to remember which phone conversation it had come up in.

"About four days. I figured it was just a cold," Stiles shrugged, the bags under his eyes too obvious for Derek to ignore. "I…I've been on my own for the last week," he continued, looking over at Derek. "And with the craziness before the holidays I couldn't get him into the pediatrician's," Stiles sighed, feeling like a bad parent for what felt like the millionth time since he'd first held Isaac.

"I'm not here to play bad cop," the doctor smiled before pulling her stethoscope from her ears and putting it back around her neck. "You're new parents and you're new to asthma."

"Actually, that's not true. The second part, at least," Stiles sighed and pulled out his own inhaler. "I should have known better."

"It sounds like pneumonia. I'm going to start a breathing treatment and give him some Tylenol to whip that fever," Dr. Laska explained before grabbing Isaac's chart and leaving the room. Stiles walked to Isaac's bedside and parted the toddler's blonde curls, watching with tears as his son's whole body worked for each and every breath against the pillows. "This is all my fault," he sniffled, trying to keep from getting emotional but knowing it was only a matter of time before the tears began to fall.

He expected Derek to come up from behind and embrace him, put his arms around his waist and rest his head on his shoulder, but there was nothing. Not a word, not a sound, not a movement from Derek who stood at the foot of Isaac's bed and looked at the floor, trying to fight the anger that was building up inside, threatening to show itself in the form of choice words.

"Der," Stiles tried as he shook his head, lips hanging apart as he took a shaky breath in.

"This is not how I wanted to spend our first Christmas with Isaac," Derek said through gritted teeth, unable to let his eyes meet Stiles'.

"Y-you left me alone for nearly a week," Stiles whispered in defense, fighting the tears that were welling up in his eyes and the guilt that was balling up in his stomach. "My first graders had their Christmas play and I had progress reports due and Isaac had _his _Christmas play," he continued, tone low to keep from startling Isaac. "And then I was decorating and baking and cleaning and making sure Isaac got all of his meds and I had to do it _all on my own_, Derek. _All on my own_."

"Pneumonia," Derek's voice boomed as he paced around the room, jaw set as he shook his head. "Jesus, Stiles! Do you know how dangerous that is for a kid, let alone one with asthma?"

"What, you think I don't know that?" Stiles cried, tears finally sliding down his red cheeks.

"Do you ever think about anyone but yourself?!"

Stiles' mouth opened at the ridiculousness of the question, a wheeze coming out in the place of words. He quickly tried to brush it off by tending to Isaac, who was whimpering, inhales having become gaspy hiccups that Stiles knew were never a good sign.

"Hey," Stiles soothed as he forced a smile and pushed Isaac's hair out of his face. "It's okay, honey. Papa's just sad that you're sick. Dr. Laska's getting your medicine right now." Isaac continued to sob, face growing red as he coughed heavily, alarms on the monitor beside the bed going off.

"I think you should leave," Derek said as he came to the other side of Isaac's bed and pulled the rail down so that he could hold his son and calm him down. "You're making him upset and now he can barely breathe."

"_I'm_ making him upset?"

"I think you need to remove yourself from the situation," Derek said, their eyes meeting as he held Isaac against his chest, the coldness in his voice reminding Stiles of a Derek he'd known a long, long time ago. Stiles swallowed to keep his wheezing from growing more audible and took a deep breath to keep more tears from falling. Because he knew that everything Derek had said was pure impulse, that in a few short hours he'd probably be apologizing for fighting for the last word. Stiles would say, "I know that you don't always mean what you say when you're angry," but he also wondered if this would be the time that Derek would say, "Actually, I meant every single word." That had always been his fear, and suddenly, it seemed more real than it ever had.


	3. Chapter 3

**Author's Note:** Thanks again for all of the reviews/follows/favorites! More to come very soon! Let us know what you think. :)

* * *

Stiles sat in the stairwell between the seventh and eighth floors with his head in his hands, cool air helping to calm the wheezing that had started during his argument with Derek. He moved only to dial his father, resting the side of his head against the cold wall as he listened to the endless ringing, praying his father would pick up because he wasn't quite sure what he would do if he didn't.

"I'm a horrible father," he mumbled when he heard the Sheriff's groggy voice on the other end, tears cascading again through silent sobs.

"Stiles," the Sheriff sighed, half-asleep and rubbing his eyes to wake up. "You're not a bad-"

"Isaac has pneumonia and he's in the hospital on Christmas and it's my fault that it got to this point because I was too busy with work and shopping and-"

"Stiles," his father warned, but he continued anyway.

"-and cleaning and baking and decorating and wrapping-"

"Stiles!" he yelled just as he always had when his son's anxiety would take over and cause him to ramble. "Just take a deep breath, okay? You're going to send yourself into an attack and you won't be able to be there for Isaac if you're in a hospital bed yourself. I can already hear you wheezing through the damn phone!"

Stiles nodded even though no one could see him and took a shaky breath, adjusting the phone against his ear as the tears continued to fall but the sobbing subsided. "I made sure that he had his preventer medications every day," he explained, voice barely a whisper. "I set my phone every four hours to make sure he did his breathing treatments. I stayed up all night listening to the baby monitor. I checked on him in the middle of the night. How did I miss something this big?"

"Isaac is prone to things like pneumonia, Stiles. It's not your fault that he's sick. Don't you remember what it was like when you were little?"

"But this is different, Dad. You never let your guard down with me."

"It's not about whether you have your guard up or not," he explained. "You can't control everything that happens to him, Stiles. Just because you planned ahead doesn't mean things will go the way you want them." For a moment he wondered if his father was talking about Isaac or his mother, but he didn't want to go there. Not at that moment, at least. "Something tells me there's more to this than just Isaac being sick."

"You mean like Derek hating me right now?" he asked with a sniffle.

"Derek doesn't hate you," his father said.

"Oh, so he told me to leave the room because he loves me?" Stiles had to hold his breath after that one to keep from letting a sob out.

"He what?!"

Stiles took a shallow breath and said, "Isaac was getting upset that we were fighting so he told me to leave and now I'm sitting in the stairwell trying to calm down." He could hear his wheeze returning, his lungs tightening as he tried to stop the image of Isaac crying and gasping from reappearing. "I feel like I'm completely on my own here," he admitted, squeezing his eyes shut to keep the tears back.

"You aren't on your own, though," his father said, voice much softer than before. "Derek is upset, but he doesn't hate you. You've both been working non-stop, all while learning how to be parents and do the best by Isaac." With his free hand, Stiles pulled his inhaler from his pocket and shook it before giving himself a puff. "What you and Derek are doing is a very different kind of parenting because you're trying to undo all of the hurt and pain that he gained from his last home and fill those holes with unconditional love. And you're not a horrible father for wishing your son wasn't sick and in pain right now. If anything, that shows how much you care and how seriously you take your role in Isaac's life."

Stiles just sniffled and wondered how many times his father had felt like this. How many times he'd sat in the stairwell of this very hospital thinking that everything was spiraling out of his control and that there was no way to fix it. He took another puff of medicine and leaned his head back against the wall.

"Here's what you're going to do: After I hang up, you're going to find a moment, one from the past four months that made you stop and think that creating a family with Derek by adopting Isaac was the best thing that could have ever happened to you. And then you're going to go to Isaac's room and be with your family."

"But-"

"I love you," his father said before disconnecting the call, leaving Stiles panicked for a few seconds before he put his phone and inhaler down and took the deepest breath he could manage. Following his father's advice, he recalled the night in the bathtub about a month earlier when Isaac had had another one of his episodes. They'd been occurring less frequently as the toddler adjusted, but that didn't make Stiles hate them any less.

"Daddy?" Isaac had asked as he held his plastic toy boat in his lap, splashing and giggling having stopped just a few seconds earlier.

"Hmm?"

"Is that lady gonna come back and take me fwom you and Papa?"

"Never, why would you ask that?" Stiles asked as he gently wiped Isaac's back with a soft washcloth.

"She took me fwom my last Daddy," he sniffled. "'Cause I was bad."

"Honey," Stiles sighed as he lifted Isaac's chin. "You weren't bad. Not at all. Your father was hurting you and that's not what parents are supposed to do."

"I-I don't want her to take me away again," Isaac cried as he pulled his head away from Stiles' grip, dropping the toy boat and curling into himself as his sobbing took over. "S-she's gonna take me away again! I don't want to go away," he screeched over and over as Stiles tried to comfort him unsuccessfully, Derek appearing in the doorway after hearing the commotion.

"She's not going take you away from us, Isaac. No one is going to take you," he cooed, afraid to wrap the toddler in a towel and remove him from the tub because the last time he'd done that Isaac had kicked him in the stomach. Hard. "We love you and you're staying right here with us."

"Isaac," Derek said as he kneeled beside the tub, Stiles' heart breaking at the thought that the toddler had no idea what was going on or why and that he thought that everything that had happened was because he was the one that had done something wrong. "We love you more than anything else and we are yours to keep forever, okay?" He gently stroked Isaac's hair, even after the toddler tried pulling away in fear, and repeated the action for nearly ten minutes before the toddler released his balled fists and calmed down, his little sniffles turning into hiccups before he finally whispered, "Otay."

Later that night, as Stiles and Derek were tucking him into bed, Isaac had looked at them with his bright blue eyes and said, "Love you, Daddy. Love you, Papa." Stiles paused with the comforter in his hands, tears forming in his eyes as his heart melted. "You are the sweetest little boy any parent could ask for," he finally whispered as he kissed his cheek. "We love you, too, baby boy," Derek smiled before giving Isaac a kiss on his forehead. The two watched from the partially cracked doorway with their fingers entwined, both refusing to move until they were sure Isaac was fast asleep, safe and sound.


	4. Chapter 4

**Author's Note: **Hope you guys are enjoying the story so far. Keep the reviews and favorites coming. Thanks!

* * *

"How is he?" Stiles asked quietly from the doorway, hands deep in his pockets, afraid to enter completely in case Derek was still in the mood to argue.

"They gave him something to help him sleep while he does his breathing treatment," Derek explained as he held Isaac's tiny hand and gently moved his thumb over it, eyes refusing to stray from his son. "They're going to start IV antibiotics and steroids after they get a chest x-ray."

Stiles pulled his lips inward and took a deep breath before deciding it was safe to pull a chair to the other side of Isaac's bed and sit down. He'd followed his father's two directions, but now, with Isaac in a hospital gown breathing from a mask as numerous wires snaked in and out from beneath the white blanket over him, he was lost. He'd been there before and yet he still felt like he didn't know where to go next. Because his husband was sitting across from him, unwilling to let their eyes meet, jaw still locked as he watched every inhale and exhale, none easy, that their son attempted.

"Go ahead. Blame me," Stiles whispered. "Tell me that this is all my fault and that tonight should have been different."

Derek sighed softly and rubbed his face with his free hand. "I'm not going to argue about this with Isaac in the room, and I'm not leaving him right now."

"Then tell me that this isn't my fault," Stiles said, tears falling slowly down his cheeks. "And that you love me and we're in this as a family."

"I love you and we're in this as a family," Derek said, voice monotone.

"That wasn't very convincing," Stiles sniffled.

"Was it supposed to be?"

"God, Derek. Can't you just let your defenses down this _one_ time?" Stiles asked, eyes pleading as the tears streamed over his lips. "For Isaac? For us?" Derek just kept his eyes on his son and continued to hold his little hand.

"I can see beneath all of the anger and pain that you use as a shield," Stiles stated. "And I know that when you say things like _I think you need to remove yourself from the situation _and_ Was it supposed to be_ that you regret them almost immediately afterwards. That you replay the conversations in your head and let them eat you up on the inside." Stiles saw Derek's jaw move a little at the last comment, but there were no words to follow.

"Come on, Der," he tried. "I know that it's hard for you to stop spewing hurtful, sarcastic comments once you start. I _know_ that and I still love you, which is why I'm asking you to try right now and have this conversation with me. For Isaac," Stiles said. "Because he's scared and us fighting isn't going to make him better."

At the mention of Isaac's fear, Derek titled his head back and took a deep breath, making Stiles wonder if Derek was trying to keep tears from falling or if he was just flat out annoyed at Stiles' insistent rambling.

"Would you please say something?" Stiles begged, breaths quickening as he waited for a sign that he was getting through to his husband. The electricity was flowing through his body now, making him lift his right heel repeatedly and fidget his hands in his lap. He almost got up to pace around the room, but when Derek folded into himself and let silent sobs rack his body as wet tears fell, Stiles just licked his lips and let them part, unsure of what to do. Because Derek, like Isaac, didn't always do well with touch when he was emotional, and Stiles was sure that even one hand on his shoulder might trigger the person inside that Stiles had only seen once before and someone Stiles never wanted to encounter again.

"Der," he whispered. "You don't have to cry," he explained, even though he was crying too. "It's okay if you're mad at me."

"I'm not mad at you!" Derek groaned through his tears. "It's not _you_."

"You…you're mad at yourself?" Stiles asked, confused. "This isn't anyone's fault, Derek. It's been a long week and we've only been doing this whole parenting thing for four months." Derek just shook his head in his hands. "Things like this are going to happen," Stiles said, voice softer. "I'm going to stress myself out because my brain is always racing, Isaac's going to get sick because of his asthma, and you're going to go away on business so that we can stay financially stable. We're going to argue about stupid little things that will only seem stupid in retrospect and that's okay. It's…normal. This is what families do."

"But I'm so bad at this," Derek responded, voice shaky. "I thought that maybe I could work on it, be a better father for Isaac as time went on, but obviously it isn't working."

"What are you talking about? You are amazing with Isaac," Stiles assured him.

"Yeah, right," Derek sniffled, still afraid to show his face. "I just end up fucking everything up."

Stiles thought back to their first month with Isaac and how Derek had been afraid to hold him. Actually, Derek had been afraid to interact with Isaac in any sense of the word, so Stiles suggested that him and Isaac spend some one-on-one time together each day. There was one particular night, about three weeks in, where Derek had set a bath for Isaac, careful to make sure that the water was lukewarm and full of the bubble bath Stiles had purchased at the store. The toddler splashed the water around him with sweet little laughs, loving the fluffy white beard of bubbles Derek had given him just moments before.

Stiles had been looking up now and then at the video baby monitor between dishes just to make sure Derek and Isaac were okay; they hadn't quite figured out Isaac's strawberry allergy at that point, and Derek could be a little panicky whenever Isaac started wheezing. With the faucet running and overpowering the audio, he had almost missed what was now one of his favorite memories of the two. A high-pitched squeal from the toddler forced Stiles' eyes to the screen and he laughed in relief when he realized it was just Derek blowing tufts of bubbles off of his hand.

"You have no idea how much I love you already," Derek had laughed to himself as he gently lathered Isaac's hair with the watermelon shampoo a moment later, careful not to get the soap in his eyes even though the formula was tear-free. Isaac smiled sweetly up at Derek and squeezed his eyes shut as his hair was rinsed out. "You've already stolen my heart, little Isaac," Derek smiled as he drained the tub and lifted him out, wrapping him in a towel and carrying him off screen.

Stiles felt droplets of warm water hitting his sock, alerting him to dripping pot he'd been washing but had paused with as he'd watched the monitor. He'd shaken his head and smiled as he finished the dishes, knowing that the progress Derek had made in his relationship with Isaac was proof that yes, they had made the right decision to adopt him. And as he shared this memory with Derek out loud as they waited for the doctor to return, the two held hands and each one of Isaac's, tears replaced by a set of hopeful smiles.


	5. Chapter 5

**Author's Note:** Sorry for the delay everyone! I've been really sick but am finally getting on my feet agian. Thanks again for the encouraging reviews, follows, and favorites. :)

This chapter starts with a series of flashbacks.

* * *

"Children," Stiles stated, though it was more a question than anything else, and smiled at Derek. The two were tangled in the covers, exhausted from moving into their new house on Archer the day before. This was two and a half years before Isaac had come into their lives, when the prospect of children was still an open topic.

"No," Derek had said as he loosely held Stiles' hand, late morning sunlight streaming through the window and illuminating their bodies.

"Really?"

"Yes. Next topic."

"Why not?"

"You told me that you were going to work on letting topics I was uncomfortable with go, and I'm holding up my end of the bargain by asking you very kindly to drop it."

"Have you at least thought about it?" he asked, ignoring Derek's statement.

There was the weight of Derek's end of the comforter on Stiles just before he heard Derek's feet pad heavily across the wooden floor. The bathroom door slammed loudly a moment later.

The topic hung between them for the rest of the day, tension finally causing Derek to explode with, "Because I can't imagine myself being responsible for someone else, okay?" in the middle of dinner. He glared at Stiles from across the table, fork hanging awkwardly from his hand over his plate.

"But you're an Alpha now," Stiles said mid-chew, confused.

"It's different."

Stiles swallowed his food. "You literally take care of, like, four people that act like children on a daily basis. How would having your own be any different?"

"It's easy for you to want kids. You work with first graders," Derek groaned as he moved his string beans and mashed potatoes around his plate with his fork.

"My job isn't the reason I want children," Stiles explained.

"You call your students your kids all the time."

"Yeah, and I get to send them home at the end of the day. It's different,"

"Exactly. Just like being the Alpha is different."

Stiles had just groaned, unable to think of a witty come-back, and let the topic drop.

It wasn't until a year and a half later, when Derek came to the elementary school to help with a field trip after a class parent called in sick, that Stiles saw him interact with children for the first time.

"Thanks for coming so quickly. I owe you big time," Stiles said as he handed Derek a plastic baggie with a bottle of Benadryl and a lime green box that read _epi-pen jr _before corralling four first graders around him.

"What's this?" Derek asked as he held the bag up, eyebrows lifting.

"Jake's got a peanut allergy," he explained as he looked away to do a last minute head count.

"I can't do this, Stiles." Derek was shaking his head, pushing the bag back at him.

"Mr. _S_," Stiles corrected him as he pushed the bag against Derek's chest. "And yes, you can."

"What if-" Derek started but was cut off when Stiles initiated some kind of attention-grabbing game that had the kids following his Simon-Says-like directions. The hallway quieted almost immediately, smiles spreading across the sea of first graders.

"You were really good with them," Stiles smiled as he handed Derek a cold water bottle once the bus circle had emptied and it was just the two of them back in the classroom. "I didn't hear a peep from your group during the tour."

"That's because they were scared of me," Derek stated as he unscrewed the cap. "Except for that girl Gracie. God, she's like a mini you; she wouldn't shut the hell up once we took a break for lunch!" He took a long sip and recapped the bottle before sitting down on a desk and letting his head hang down.

Stiles laughed as he gathered his plan book and jacket. "Hey, thanks for coming to the rescue today."

"You owe me," Derek mumbled in exhaustion.

"Well, I had something specific in mind, but if you're too tired…" Derek's head shot up quickly, one eyebrow lifting. "Meet you at home in ten?" Stiles asked with a sly smile.

"So I think," Derek whispered between kisses where Stiles had his back to the wall of the stairwell. "That maybe kids wouldn't be such a bad thing."

Stiles pulled his head away, surprised by the comment.

"What?"

"You've been thinking about it?" Stiles asked. "Like seriously thinking about it?"

"Yeah," Derek replied nervously, looking away as his hands fell and landed Stiles' hips.

"What made you change your mind?"

"I don't know." Derek shifted his weight. "I guess things are just getting really serious between us and now that I'm older the concept of kids isn't so scary."

"Oh," Stiles said, lips parted as he processed what was happening.

"That's all you have to say? 'Oh'?"

"I'm just…surprised. Can't I be surprised?!" Stiles joked, which had Derek laughing, breaking the awkwardness that filled the air between them. Without another word their lips met, Stiles' contentment with Derek's confession forcing him to smile as butterflies filled his entire body.

x

Geoff Stilinski switched his lamp off once he ended the late night phone call with Stiles and rolled over in his bed, remembering the night nearly six months ago when he stood on the Lahey's doorstep late last August after the neighbors had called about a domestic dispute.

"We've got a 415 at 80 Birch Avenue. Third call this month," dispatch reported.

"Responding," he'd answered into his CB as he put his lights on and increased his speed.

"Be alert of possible 273A. CPS is already involved."

"Noted," he said as he and his partner shared a look and shook their heads; cases with children always hit close to home for both of them because they were parents.

Geoff could barely listen to the drunken words the male at the door was mumbling minutes later because of the insistent crying and wheezing going on in the background.

"Is that your son, sir?" Geoff had asked in reference to the noise.

"Isaac, stop crying!" the man had yelled, head turning towards the living room.

"He asthmatic?" he'd asked, heart already pounding in his chest at the thought.

"He's fine," the man assured him as he stumbled over himself and tried to recover by leaning against the doorframe.

"He's not fine; he's having a severe asthma attack," Geoff stated as he pushed into the house to assess the child, which was how he ended up at the Beacon Hills Hospital ten minutes later with the blonde haired and blue eyed toddler wheezing heavily as he cradled him in his arms.

The nurse tried to put the nebulizer mask over the toddler's nose and mouth but he just pushed it away and continued to kick and scream in the Sheriff's arms. "Let me," Geoff offered and the nurse nodded before handing him the mask. "Hey, little guy," he cooed as he held the child in his arms and gently brushed his fingertips over his blonde curls, holding the mask on loosely with his free hand. "Shhh, it's okay. You're going to be okay." By then Isaac's breathing was nothing more than full-body attempts to get air and Geoff couldn't help but recall Stiles' first attack.

How he'd been fine running around the house one minute, his chest heaving the next. Stiles had fought the mask, too, and Geoff had had to force it over his son's mouth and nose through glossy eyes while his wife held his legs down.

"Does he have a history of asthma?"

"N-no, he's always been healthy. Just a few ear infections here and there," he'd answered frantically as he held the misting mask against his son's face, breathing still labored, legs still trying to kick.

"Gen, honey, the medicine is to help you breathe better. It's okay. Mommy and Daddy are here. We're not going anywhere," his wife had cooed as she'd pushed her fingers lightly through his hair and down the side of his face. "We're right here, baby," she soothed, and Geoff was sure that the only reason the tears pooling in his eyes didn't end up falling the fact that he felt every muscle in his son's body finally relax at his mother's touch.

"It's okay. I'm not going to hurt you," Geoff assured the toddler with a soft voice as he cradled and rocked him gently. "The medicine will help you breathe easier. It's okay. Shhh."

"His name's Isaac," the nurse smiled as she watched the way Geoff handled the toddler.

"That's it, Isaac," Geoff smiled as the child relaxed, eyes drooping in exhaustion as his breathing finally began to even out. "Just breathe, honey."

"Poor kid's here pretty often with his asthma. We have quite a file on him," the nurse explained before leaving the room.

"Sheriff Stilinski," a young deputy's voice boomed as he entered.

"Shhh," Geoff warned as he nodded down towards Isaac, the toddler's eyelids fluttering at the sudden noise.

"Sorry, Sheriff," he apologized, voice barely a whisper. "They found the wife. She, uh, she didn't make it."

"Wife?"

"The dispute was a little more involved than we originally thought," he explained as he watched Isaac sleep, room quiet for a moment before he asked, "Is the kid gonna be okay?"

"Yeah, it's just an asthma attack. He'll be fine once the medicine kicks in," he explained, voice low.

"So, uh, what's gonna happen to him now?"

"Probably foster care, maybe adoption."

He'd made the phone call to Stiles later that night as Isaac lay asleep in his arms, oxygen line running beneath his tiny nose and around his ears.

"Dad? Everything okay?"

"How soon were you and Derek thinking of adopting?"


	6. Chapter 6

**Author's Note:** Thanks again for all of the reads, reviews, follows, and favorites! I'm looking for prompts related to this fic because one reviewer said that they'd like to see their "daily lives and new challenges," so send me your submissions here, in a review, or a private message. I'm planning on using them as drabbles to continue this story once the Christmas stuff is over. :)

* * *

"The x-rays confirmed the pneumonia. We've started antibiotics and steroids, but those will take a few hours to really kick in," Dr. Laska explained as she pulled her stethoscope from her neck, secured the buds in her ears, and placed the metal disc against Isaac's chest.

"Is it okay that his heart rate is this high?" Derek asked as he pushed his fingers through Isaac's hair, the fast paced beeping that had been coming from the monitor for a good forty minutes now making his own heart rate rise.

"That's just from the albuterol and his body fighting the infection. It'll come down soon. His oxygen levels are lower than I'd hoped after that last treatment, though."

"Do we do more nebs, then? Wait it out until the antibiotics and steroids start to work?" Derek asked, eyes searching the doctor's face for any clue as to what she might suggest. "He's still having a hard time."

"Given his asthma and the severity of the pneumonia, there is something else we can do to make it easier for him to breathe," the doctor offered as she wrote in Isaac's chart. "That's actually what I came in here to discuss." Stiles felt his lungs tighten when he realized where the doctor was going with the conversation, head starting to shake at the idea.

"I'm not putting my three year old on a ventilator," Stiles argued sternly, lungs seizing in the process. "He's…he's too young."

"I think it's the best shot we have at getting him breathing easier," she explained. "His oxygen is in the mid-eighties and his lungs could use the rest."

"No," Stiles said, the word coming out with a slight whine as he approached the doctor.

"Stiles," Derek whispered as he tried to physically pull his husband back toward him.

"He might not need to be on that long depending on how quickly his oxygen comes up." Dr. Laska clicked her pen shut and closed Isaac's chart. "I'll let you two talk it over and I'll be back in a little while," she said before leaving the room.

"No," Stiles cried as he shook his head back and forth, tears continuing to well as his breaths quickened.

"I don't like the idea any more than you do, but I want what's best for Isaac."

"I'm not letting them shove a tube down his throat, Derek!"

"He can barely breathe, Stiles!" Derek argued in a hushed tone. "Why won't you agree with me on this?"

"Because I know what it's like," he wheezed, "and I…I don't want him to…to remember what..."

"Okay, calm down," Derek said as he guided Stiles over to a chair. "Where's your inhaler?" Stiles went to pull it out of his pocket, but it wasn't there. He looked up at Derek, eyes big as he continued to panic, wheezes growing deeper as he struggled to keep his breathing under control.

Derek went through Isaac's bag and pulled his inhaler out, watching as Stiles put it to his lips and breathed in two quick puffs of the medication, hands shaking as he closed his eyes and took deep breaths. "You're a jittery mess, Stiles. How many puffs have you taken today?"

"E-eight," he rasped.

"Eight?! You've been having trouble breathing all day?"

"M-maybe," he admitted as he rubbed his chest to try and get the burning feeling to leave.

"Why didn't you say anything?"

"Isaac," he whispered.

"Did you at least do a treatment?"

"No time," Stiles said as he closed his eyes and shook his head.

"Jesus, Stiles. You can't just-"

"Papa?" Isaac asked as he woke from the sedative, his voice slightly muted by the mask covering his mouth and nose. "Daddy?" he cried, panic beginning in the form of short, staccato inhales as Derek rushed to his bedside.

"Hey, baby boy," Derek cooed as he took Isaac's hand in his and looked into his eyes. "Shh, it's okay. I'm right here." He watched as tears slid down Isaac's cheeks, chest heaving as he fought for air.

"M'scared," he sniffled as he looked around at all of the wires and machines. "I know," Derek assured him.

"I wanna go home," he sobbed before breaking into a violent coughing fit that left him curled in a ball and barely able to catch his breath. Stiles lifted his head as Isaac's deep and productive coughs began and pulled himself across the room so that he was right across from Derek, body leaning heavily on the bedrail. His hand gently rubbed across Isaac's back, the toddler's pale skin half exposed due to the untied back of the hospital gown, rapid rise and fall of his son's chest mixed with the sound of congested breathing forcing him to choke back a sob of his own.

"I can't watch him suffer anymore," Derek whispered. "Please just say _yes_."

"Derek, no," Stiles said, voice low as he shook his head.

"What if he gets worse? Or it's too late by the time you change your mind?"

"We just need to give the medicine more time."

"Look at the monitor, Stiles," Derek pointed, voice tinged with anger. "I know you know what all of those numbers mean. He's getting sicker and the more time we spend arguing about this the longer we let Isaac suffer."

Stiles bit his lip, hating that he knew the significance every number on the monitor. Hours sitting by his mother's bedside had taught him ranges and extremes, and Isaac's numbers hadn't shown any signs of improvement even though he'd had two breathing treatments, continuous oxygen, and high doses of IV antibiotics and steroids.

"Okay," Stiles sniffled as his hand left Isaac's back.

"Is that a _yes_?" Derek asked, to which Stiles just nodded as he covered his face with one hand, other gripping the metal bedrail tightly.

x

"It huwts," Isaac whimpered ten minutes later as doctors and nurses crowded the room, exhaustion from working so hard to breathe visible in the way his eyelids drooped and covered the brightness in his deep blue eyes.

"I know, baby. We're trying to fix that. You're just going to get a little sleepy again, okay?" Derek explained as he trailed his fingertips through Isaac's hair, tears clouding his sight.

"Otay," Isaac rasped softly, chest still rising and falling quickly.

"And when you wake up we'll be right here," Stiles tried to smile, voice cracking. Isaac's eyes closed before he could say anything else, the doctor and nurses moving in quickly to intubate him.

Stiles didn't even care that he was wheezing as Derek held him close and let him sob into his jacket, the leather soft and warm against his face.


	7. Chapter 7

**Author's Note:** Thanks again for all of the reads, reviews, follows, and favorites! I'm looking for prompts related to this fic because one reviewer said that they'd like to see their "daily lives and new challenges," so send me your submissions here, in a review, or a private message. I'm planning on using them as drabbles to continue this story once the Christmas stuff is over. :)

* * *

Derek held Stiles close as he did a second breathing treatment in the reclining chair beside Isaac's bed, mask fogging up each time he exhaled against the plastic. His wheezing had caught the attention of Dr. Laska, who'd then offered up a nebulizer without having them fill out paperwork or making Stiles wear a bracelet because she had felt horrible about their situation.

So Derek listened to the steady humming and whooshing of the many machines in the room as he watched the clock on the wall reach 8 AM, focusing on the way Isaac's heart monitor beeped evenly because it helped steady his own heart rate. He thought about letting it lull him to sleep since he'd barely gotten any on the plane or at home or sitting in the most uncomfortable chair he'd ever sat in, but he couldn't get his mind or anxiety to shut off. Not with his child on a ventilator a foot away and his husband fighting an asthma flare in his arms.

Asthma. Stiles had kept it a secret for eight months until that night their first August together when Derek woke suddenly, yawning for a few seconds before he realized Stiles was not in the bed beside him. He could hear that there was a light buzzing coming from the bathroom, light visible through the crack between the door and floor. Worried, he'd tried to pull the door open, only to find it was locked.

"Stiles? What's going on? Are you okay?"

"Y-yeah," he'd heard before Stiles broke into a coughing fit similar to the ones he'd been experiencing all week, the ones he'd brushed off as a late summer cold.

"Why is the door locked?"

"M'fine. Go back…go back to bed."

"You're obviously not. Let me in," Derek demanded as he wiggled the knob. Thankfully it was old and fell apart in his hands after he applied a decent amount of pressure and turned the knob completely to the left.

Once inside, he watched as Stiles' shoulders lifted and fell continuously, quickly, as though he didn't have any control over how fast he was breathing. His lips were tight around a clear plastic mouthpiece of some sort with a reservoir of liquid attached at the bottom, tubing running from it to a small machine on the carpet.

"Jesus, Stiles," Derek whispered as he sat on the edge of the bathtub and put his hand on his boyfriend's shoulder. His eyes fell on the red inhaler atop the counter, prescription sticker on the canister reading 'Genim Stilinski'. "You have asthma?" Stiles had just closed his eyes and nodded, breathing still shallow and strained as he continued to suck in the medicine.

"Why didn't you say anything?"

"I…I didn't w-want-" he tried, but another coughing fit took over, and by the time he was done, the reservoir of the nebulizer was dry and his breathing wasn't any better.

"We're going to the hospital," Derek announced as he pulled out his cell phone and called for an ambulance, giving them the address and situation. "Is there anything else I can do while we wait?" he asked as he held the phone between his ear and shoulder so he could hold both of Stiles' hands.

"No," Stiles mouthed as he shook his head, wheezing audible now that the nebulizer had been turned off, and Derek's stomach dropped at the thought that maybe the paramedics wouldn't make it in time.

"Der?" he heard Stiles whisper breathlessly as he shifted slightly against his chest in the hospital room. "How's Isaac?" he wheezed.

"Shh," Derek instructed softly. "You shouldn't be talking."

"I just need to know," Stiles wheezed.

"He's stable," Derek assured him. "Just like he was ten minutes ago."

"Did the doctor…-"

"Nurse said she'd be in within the hour."

"He should be opening presents," Stiles whispered.

"I really don't want to think about that right now," Derek whispered back, taking a deep breath as he set his jaw and turned his head away from Stiles so that he could keep from crying.

"He just never gets to be a kid, you know?" Stiles sniffled, fogging up the mask again. "Always going through so much. When we got him I…I wanted to make everything better."

"You're going to make your lungs worse," Derek warned softly.

"I know. I just…want Isaac to be okay," he wheezed.

"I know, hon. Me too," he sighed as he leaned his head against Stiles'.

"D'you call my dad?"

"On his way," Derek said. "Now please, stop talking before Dr. Laska admits you, too?"

Stiles nodded and let his eyelids fall despite the electricity moving through his body from the medicine. It didn't matter that it had been months since he'd done a treatment; each time he tasted the albuterol on his lips it was like his childhood habits took over and every muscle in his body relaxed, oxygen finally able to move more freely into his lungs as he fell asleep.

**x**

Isaac's piercing cries carried down the long hallway, dragging Stiles from a deep and much needed sleep; it was Derek's first business trip since Isaac had come into their lives and the toddler still wasn't sleeping through the night even though he'd been in their care for over a month. "He's gonna get me! Daddy! Papa!" he screeched.

"Hey, Daddy's here," Stiles soothed as he pulled a hysterical Isaac from beneath his covers and into a tight hug before turning the bedside lamp on. "Shh, no one is coming to get you, baby boy."

"The bad guy's hewe!" Isaac continued to bawl even after Stiles began rubbing gentle circles on his back and shushing him. "He's gonna get you and Papa!"

"There's no one in the house but us, Isaac. Remember when we locked all of the doors downstairs before bedtime?"

"But he's gonna get us!" he whimpered, shaking in Stiles' arms.

"There's no bad guy, Isaac. We've talked about this before with Dr. Galler. You're safe now."

"I'm scawed," he cried as he dug his little fingers into the fabric of Stiles' grey t-shirt and tightened the grip of his legs around his waist. "I don't want him to get me! Don't let him get me!"

Isaac suddenly gasped like he'd been holding his breath underwater, wheezing that trailed the following rapid breaths concerning Stiles.

"Relax, Isaac," he cooed. "You're making yourself sick, honey."

"Don't leave!"

"I'm not going anywhere, I promise," Stiles assured him.

"Whewe's Papa?" he wheezed, head turning left and right as he looked around the room for him. "Papa? Papa?!"

"He'll be home tomorrow, Isaac. We talked about that with Dr. Galler, too, remember?"

"No." Isaac shook his head, breathing still quick and uneven as he continued to cry and cling to Stiles. "Papa!"

"Look who I found!" Stiles smiled sleepily as he picked up Balto, the small stuffed wolf that the toddler had grown quite attached to after he'd seen the cartoon movie. He made the grey stuffed animal kiss Isaac on the nose in an attempt to cheer him up, but instead it made him turn his head away and cry out for Papa again, which caused his dry cough to surface and knock whatever breath he had out of him.

"No!" he whined when he saw Stiles pull the medicine from his nightstand, burying his face into Stiles' shirt to avoid it.

"It'll make your coughing go away," he explained softly as he shook the inhaler with his free hand and connected it to the spacer.

"I don't wike it," he blubbered against Stiles' chest.

"I know, baby," he sighed as he rubbed Isaac's back, toddler continuing to cough heavily. "But if you take your inhaler we won't have to do a treatment or go to the hospital."

"No!"

"What if Daddy takes a puff, too?" he asked and Isaac finally lifted his head up, cries turning to sniffles as he debated the idea.

"You fiwst?" he asked, and Stiles nodded as he used one hand on the inhaler to press the mask on the end of the spacer against his face, taking a few big breaths once he let the medicine out of the canister. Stiles was used to modeling things for Isaac by now because the toddler was afraid of nearly everything, no doubt a result of his experiences in his last home.

"Deep breath in," Stiles smiled when Isaac took the first puff. "And out. In, out. Good job. One more," he directed as he shook the inhaler and reconnected it, pressing down on the canister and repeating his directions before setting the contraption on the bed and adjusting Isaac so that he could rest in his arms. "I have such a brave little boy," he soothed before kissing him on the forehead.

"I feel icky," he whimpered breathlessly.

"I know, baby. It'll start working soon."

"No more med'cine," he cried, tears beginning to pool again.

"No more for now," Stiles assured Isaac as he began to weep, feeling guilty that

the toddler was on so many medications. Their first doctors visit had revealed that his asthma was seriously out of control, prompting immediate preventative care that required breathing treatments three times a day, two different types of inhalers, and a slew of steroid, allergy, and epi-pen prescriptions. It didn't help that more often than not the toddler could barely speak by the time he tried to alert Derek and Stiles to an attack, if he even tried at all.

"Come stop your crying, it will be all right," Stiles started to whisper-sing as he rose from the bed and rocked back and forth with Isaac against his chest. "Just take my hand, hold it tight. I will protect you from all around you. I will be here, don't you cry."

Isaac's breathing began to even out as they slowly circled the room. "For one so small, you seem so strong. My arms will hold you, keep you safe and warm," he continued. "This bond between us can't be broken. I will be here, don't you cry."

He felt Isaac's grip around his neck relax, the toddler's sniffling turning into a yawn as he let his head rest on his father's shoulder, eyes closing. "'Cause you'll be in my heart. Yes, you'll be in my heart from this day on now and forever more," he finished, allowing the silence to soothe Isaac to sleep as he rocked him back and forth, own head falling sideways to be closer to his son's.


	8. Chapter 8

**Author's Note:** Thank you everyone who has been hanging in there with this fic! I've gotten a lot of random writing done (4k) for this fic but am not sure where to put it all/how to organize it so things might seem a little off but I'm trying my best to make it work so please bear with me. I think that when I'm finished I might edit and repost the entire story, but for now, I'm going to keep updating it here on . I think the fun part about fanfiction is that you can write as you post and get help from your readers, so again, any prompts for future chapters are welcome! Some of your ideas are propelling this story forward, so feel free to leave stuff in the reviews or a PM! **Also, if you like this story, recommend it to friends on Tumblr!**

x

**Notes for this chapter: **

**1. Timing:** It starts at present time, then flashes back to a scene between the two scenes in Chapter 6. It might seem a bit confusing, I know. I'm sorry about that. (Hence, why I want to go back and edit and repost this story at some time in the future.)

**2. Characterization:** I'm working at portraying Derek's anger and insecurities accurately and am writing what I feel would be appropriate. I've been reading a lot about adoption and how it can bring out a lot of personal memories and emotions of the parent's childhoods and I think that that is more than relevant given Derek and Stiles' experiences. They both have clashing personalities and I'm trying to represent them authentically. If you have any suggestions, feel free to let me know. I'm open to criticism because I want to grow as a writer.

* * *

The wilting Christmas trees lining the curb on each end of Derek and Stiles' street were a cruel reminder of the holiday that had come and gone as they'd sat in the dimly lit PICU of the Beacon Hills Hospital waiting, hoping, and wishing for any sign of improvement in Isaac's condition. His fever had broken on the third day, oxygen levels coming up considerably and staying stable on the fourth. He'd fallen asleep in his car seat moments after all of the buckles had been secured on day five when he was released, blonde curls matted from nearly a week spent against a pillow.

Now Derek adjusted a sleepy Isaac on his hip as Stiles unlocked the front door, exhaustion making everything in front of him blurry; he'd gotten about six hours of sleep total, and most, if not all of them, were with one eye opened.

"I'll head over to CVS for his prescriptions in a little while," Stiles sighed as he tossed his keys into their dish and pulled his jacket off.

"I'm gonna get this one into bed," Derek said softly as he nodded towards the stairwell.

"Twee," Isaac said, more awake than he'd been in a while, voice breathy and light.

"You wanna see the tree, honey?" Stiles asked, perking up slightly as he brushed his fingers through the toddler's hair.

"Did Santa come?" he asked, voice barely a whisper.

"Let's go check," Stiles said as he detoured the three of them into the living room by pulling on the sleeve of Derek's leather jacket, lips curved into a smile that was so contagious even Derek couldn't resist. The three of them stood in the middle of the room as they took in the sight of white tree lights casting themselves against the pale sage walls and presents neatly arranged beneath the tree by Stiles' father.

"He came!" Isaac smiled happily, voice raspy as he laid his head on Derek's shoulder. Stiles smiled too, joy in his heart at the happiness in Isaac's eyes enough to make him feel somewhat okay for the first time in a week.

x

"Santa doesn't know…whewe I am," Isaac had cried, the toddler's little chest heaving with effort to get the words out as he lay in the hospital bed. Stiles had finally managed to peel himself off of Derek to let him tell the doctors of their decision about the ventilator and the absence of his husband beside him made the room feel cold.

"Yes, he does," Stiles assured him as he rubbed Isaac's cheek, tears rolling down his own despite the smile on his face. "Santa knows everything, baby boy."

"And Gampa's gonna be…aw awone!" Isaac started to sob, sending him into a miserable coughing fit, his monitor suddenly full of activity. The sadness in his voice made Stiles' heart want to break; they'd been talking about the holidays for nearly two months, how everyone special to them would be coming together as a family, a concept that Isaac was slowly but surely beginning to understand.

"Shh. Gampa can come to us, honey," Stiles soothed as he took Isaac's hand in his and squeezed it gently.

"He's gonna…be mad!" Isaac continued to cry.

"Gampa would never be mad at you for being sick, Isaac."

"I wanna…go home," he wheezed, tears still falling as he gasped.

"I know, honey. I promise we'll go home once they make your breathing all better, okay?"

"Whewe's Papa?"

"He'll be right back. Just get some rest, baby," Stiles choked out as he tried to soothe the toddler by tucking him in beneath his favorite blue fleece blanket. Once Isaac's sniffling had died down and his eyes had fluttered closed in exhaustion, Stiles let his right palm push against his forehead as a silent sob came out, own wheezing starting up again as he thought about how watching Isaac struggle to breathe and understand what was going on was worse than any pain he'd felt before.

He'd wanted to wake up early and get pancakes and coffee going, to hear Isaac yell excitedly as he hopped down the stairs, eyes wide and happy as he began to take in the tree all lit and surrounded by presents. It was something he'd never had before and Stiles had wanted to create it for him, give him the experiences from his own childhood that he cherished greatly. That was all but a dream; Stiles could hear the toddler fight for air even as he slept, and it made his own wheezing deepen, right hand flat against his chest as he tried unsuccessfully to take a deep breath.

"Stiles," Derek whispered, feet hurrying across the tile when he found his husband sobbing and panting at Isaac's bedside. His extended his arms and pulled Stiles in close. "It's okay. I'm here."

"I can't do this," Stiles whispered back as he tried to catch his breath.

"Yes, you can. I'm going to help you. We're in this together, babe. For Isaac."

"N-no," Stiles said as he shook his head, unsure of what he was even saying 'no' to. His emotions had balled up in his stomach and his lungs were seizing as he tried to think about the heartbreak the next few days could bring.

"You have to breathe, honey," he coaxed as he rubbed Stiles' back, voice breaking as he said the word _breathe_. "Please. I need you just as much as you need me right now." Stiles felt a tear fall on his forehead and looked up, his husband's glossy, pleading eyes meeting his own. "I'm so scared to lose him," Derek admitted softly.

"Me too," Stiles whispered as he buried his face in Derek's shirt. They stood there in the room for a few minutes just rocking in each other's arms, silent tears falling as Stiles' breathing started to even out.

"So give me hope in the darkness, that I will see the light," Derek sang as he started one of their favorite songs from their wedding, voice as low as a whisper as he kept his arms tight around Stiles. "Cause oh they gave me such a fright. But I will hold as long as you like."

"Just promise me we'll be alright," Stiles finished, thankful that Derek, always strong and persistent in his ways, was going to help guide him through this, whatever _this_ was going to become.

x

"You wanna open a few presents?" Stiles gently kissed Isaac's forehead, letting his lips linger a moment longer than necessary because he was so glad to finally be hone with his family. The toddler nodded and yawned, still leaning his head against Derek's shoulder as he let Stiles pick a small box for him from beneath the tree.

"He looks about ready to pass out again," Derek sighed as he helped Isaac sit up in his lap on the couch, muscles still weak from not being mobile for a few days.

"I know, but I think a few presents will cheer him up," Stiles smiled as he placed the gift in Isaac's hands. The toddler's fingers pulled at the paper, but the bandage on his hand where the IV had been placed made it difficult and his arms gave up quickly. Stiles took over, opening the gift enough for Isaac to pull out a small black Hot Wheels Chevy Camaro. Stiles opened pulled the cardboard packaging apart and handed the car to the toddler.

"It's just wike Papa's!" he laughed as he examined it, which caused a spurt of deep, chesty coughs to start. Derek rubbed his back while Stiles watched worriedly, the congestion a reminder that the battle against the pneumonia still wasn't over no matter how much they wished that it were. Isaac whimpered miserably once he was finished and balled up against Derek's chest, slowly regaining his breath as he relaxed.

"We need to get his prescriptions before the pharmacy closes," Derek said dryly as he stood and adjusted Isaac on his hip, mood suddenly shifted.

"I'm fully aware of that," Stiles said as he rose, annoyed with the frown on Derek's face.

"He should have been in bed ten minutes ago," Derek explained as he started for the stairs, Isaac already half asleep with the car clutched in his hand, arm looped around his papa's neck.

"What's with the sudden attitude?" Stiles asked.

"In case you haven't noticed, I haven't really slept," Derek spat angrily as he trudged up the stairs.

"I haven't slept either, Derek," Stiles responded as he followed.

Derek stopped mid-way up and turned to ask, "Are you getting his prescriptions or not?"

"Excuse me?"

"Because I want to take a nap, so if you're not going to go, I need to run out beforehand."

"The pharmacy doesn't close for another five hours," Stiles said, confused as to why Derek was suddenly so irritated. "Can't we just enjoy being-"

"He's due for a treatment in a half hour and we don't have the right strength of albuterol."

"Are you seriously doing this right now?" Stiles argued, wishing that they could go back two minutes in time and he could see that wide smile on Isaac's face as he held his first Christmas present in his hands.

"Do you want him to be back in the hospital in two days' time, or do you want to spend the rest of your winter break home?"

"I just wanted five minutes with my family," Stiles said, obviously heated as he grabbed his keys and pulled his jacket from the closet. "I fucking hate it when you get like this," he panted as he opened the front door, pausing with the knob in his hand as the cool air rushed in. "Because I'm angry too, you know. That Isaac's sick. That this last week was fucking hard. I wish that things had been different, too, but I'm not taking it out on the people that I love." And with that Stiles slammed the door shut, jacket draped over his arm, and went to start the car.


	9. Chapter 9

**Author's Note:** Hey guys! Thanks again for reading and reviewing. I know a lot of you wated longer chapters, so this one is about seven pages on Word. It's spring break and I've had tons of time to write. :)

Please review or provide feedback! It makes me a better writer and allows for me to know what my readers are thinking!

* * *

"Derek's scared, Stiles," his father told him through his Bluetooth, fingers gripping the steering wheel as he headed home from the pharmacy.

"Scared of what, Dad? Isaac's home now."

"He's still adjusting to being a dad. Give him some time," he said.

"This is all new to me too and I'm not acting like a lunatic!" Stiles exclaimed.

"The adoption part, yes. But not the asthma."

And suddenly Stiles understood what was eating away at their relationship, could see the instances that had occurred in the past four months where his father's words were blatantly obvious, their first visit to the pediatrician the most vivid in his mind.

"You and Mom learned how to handle it, though," Stiles said, voice slightly whiny.

"Yeah, and we were petrified when you were diagnosed. We used to take turns checking on you in the middle of the night because we were afraid you'd stop breathing or have such a bad attack that your wheezing would disappear before we could hear it."

"Really?" Stiles asked, surprised.

"You're in control of your asthma because you're an adult, and you're good at controlling Isaac's asthma because you know what symptoms to pick up on. But being the parent of a child with asthma when you don't have it yourself can be terrifying because it feels like one giant guessing game. That's why Derek's a nervous wreck when it comes to Isaac's breathing," his father explained. "I know it tears you up to watch him struggle, but I'm betting Derek feels even more hopeless, guilty even, because he always feels like he couldn't see it coming when he should have."

Stiles just took a deep breath and focused on the road, unsure of what to say in response.

"And don't even get me started on the peanut thing," his father groaned, trying to make the conversation light again. "I can't keep a damn jar in the house because he always finds it and replaces it with soy butter or whatever that crap is."

Stiles laughed softly and took another deep breath. "I think the last week has been really hard on him."

"Well, it doesn't help that you kept your asthma from him and then proceeded to have one of your worst attacks," the Sheriff said.

"Yeah, wasn't using my best judgment there," Stiles sighed.

"He was scared then, that night when you were at the hospital, and he's scared now. Because he's gotta worry about it happening to not only you, but Isaac, too."

"Fuck," Stiles said in realization, the curse low enough that he wondered if his father had heard it through the phone.

"You created your own monster, kiddo," he sighed.

"Yeah, so now what do I do?"

"You fix it."

"Easier said than done," Stiles griped. "Thanks, though. I really appreciate it."

"Yup," was all his father said before he disconnected the call.

"Why couldn't I see it?" Stiles whispered to himself, the sudden silence making his mind race. He hadn't had any Adderall in a few days and it was really starting to affect him, so he pushed play and hoped that whatever CD was in the player wasn't Derek's Avenged Sevenfold or Isaac's Raffi. Thankfully, it was the Mumford and Sons that he liked to listen to on his drive home from work, the soothing sounds helping him even out his breathing as his fingers tapped nervously on the steering wheel.

"How am I going to fix this?" he asked himself out loud, head pushing back into the headrest, memories of their first doctor's visit playing over in his head as he made the right turn to enter the windy road up to Griffith Park, promising himself just five minutes of peace before he walked back into the house that hadn't felt like a home in two weeks.

x

Isaac sat in Stiles' lap on the exam table, shirt off as the nurse had advised them. He ran the yellow wooden car in his hands back and forth along the paper and against Stiles' leg, giggling softly between vrooming noises. A bout of dry coughing would surface here and there, the toddler continuing to play even though it was obvious he was struggling in the way the muscles of his upper body worked hard to regulate his breathing once the fit was over. The rasp in his voice overshadowed the low dialogue he was having with himself, wheeze present each time he tried to take a deep breath.

There was a knock. "I'm Dr. Marmon," a woman smiled as she entered and closed the door behind her, hand extending to Stiles and then Derek as they introduced themselves. "And you must be Isaac!"

The toddler's eyes tracked the doctor in the white coat nervously as she moved to wash her hands in the sink, wheezing picking up as he whimpered and clung to Stiles. He held the car tightly in his fist and against his chest, afraid that she might take it away.

"She isn't going to hurt you, Isaac. She's just going to listen to your heart and breathing and make sure you're healthy. And I'm going to be right here holding you, okay?" The toddler shook his head 'no' and coughed into Stiles' chest, anxiety obvious in the way he had curled his body into a little ball.

"Sounds like the little guy has a bit of asthma," she noted as she dried her hands with a paper towel.

"We were given an inhaler, but it's almost out and it doesn't really help much," Derek explained.

"I'm just going to take a listen," Dr. Marmon smiled as she put the buds from her stethoscope in her ears and approached Isaac, who flinched and scrambled to get off of his dad's lap. Stiles' hands grabbed hold of him quickly and just enough to keep him from falling.

"No," Isaac whined, whimpers and wheezing growing worse as he fought Stiles' grip, car still tight beneath his fingers.

"She's not going to hurt you," Stiles cooed as he adjusted Isaac in his lap. "She just wants to listen."

"No!"

Derek held back as he watched Stiles struggle to keep Isaac in his lap, feeling powerless yet again; the toddler always seemed to be in fight or flight mode, sudden movements and strange people guaranteed to cause panic, and nearly everything Derek said or did to help was useless. Though they'd only had Isaac for four days, it was obvious that he was more attached to Stiles, and Derek wished he had that special touch that seemed to come so naturally to his husband.

"Isaac, honey, calm down," Stiles tried to soothe, but it was obvious that he was growing impatient, and his hold on the toddler increased. Suddenly, Isaac's wheezing became fast and high pitched, body stiffening in Stiles' arms as the car fell from his fingers and on to the floor. Eyes wide, he looked to Stiles for relief as he struggled for breath.

"H-he had an episode like this last night," Derek stammered worriedly as the doctor quickly set a nebulizer next to Stiles and prepped the machine.

"I ended up giving him a treatment with my nebulizer," Stiles admitted as he took the mask from the doctor and waited for her to turn the machine on. "Helped enough to give him four hours of sleep. That's the most he's slept consecutively since we brought him home."

Tears streamed down Isaac's red cheeks as Stiles held the misting mask lightly over his tiny face, strap unsecured so that it couldn't throw him into another level of hysterics. "It's okay, Isaac. You're okay. Daddy and Papa are here," Stiles cooed as he cradled the toddler in his arms, chest rising and falling rapidly as he inhaled the medication.

"It might make it easier if you show him what you're going to do using me first," Derek proposed as he remembered a strategy that the child psychologist had suggested, the doctor nodding and putting the stethoscope to his chest before asking him to take a deep breath. Isaac watched Derek intently as he breathed from the mask, Stiles taking the opportunity to secure the strap since he was distracted.

"See? That's all she's going to do," Stiles explained, voice soft as he positioned Isaac so that the doctor could take a listen. The toddler moved close against Stiles' chest, fingers twisting the fabric of his t-shirt.

"No!" he cried, whimpers muffled by the mask. "No!"

"Shh," Stiles soothed, kissing the toddler's head as the doctor successfully lay the disc of the stethoscope against his bare back. "You're okay," he coached each time Isaac flinched as she lifted and placed it. "See? It doesn't hurt."

"How often were you giving the albuterol?" she asked as she continued to listen to Isaac's breathing.

"Every six hours or so," Derek said.

"When was his last dose?"

"Around eight this morning."

"I'm surprised that he's still so wheezy despite the inhaler and treatment," she concluded as she put the stethoscope back around her neck. "He doesn't sound congested, but I'm going to check his oxygen level just to see where he's at."

"Is he having an attack?" Derek asked, nervous.

"It's not so much an attack as poorly controlled asthma," she explained as she clipped a pulse oximeter to one of Isaac's index fingers. "The reports that you had faxed over indicated that the frequency of his attacks were the reason CPS got involved. It's hard to tell since his lungs are so sensitive right now, but I have a feeling he has a pretty severe case of asthma to begin with."

Isaac fought to keep his eyes open, eyelids finally falling in defeat as the pulse oximeter beeped alongside his heartbeat, panic, flare, and medicine having worn him out. Stiles felt the toddler's muscles relax as the medicine moved deeper into his lungs and adjusted him so that he could be comfortable. Derek picked the wooden car up from the floor and held it in his hands, eyes fixed on it as he took a deep breath to try and calm his anxiety.

"That's definitely not good," Stiles whispered when he saw a digital 94 appear on the screen of the handheld device.

"What would be a good number?" Derek asked as he looked from Stiles to the doctor, confused.

"100," Stiles and the doctor said simultaneously.

Derek swallowed and took a deep breath as he fiddled with the car in his hands. "How do we get it up to 100, then?"

"You're looking at it," Stiles said softly as his eyes fell upon Isaac cradled in his arms, mist around the mask clouding his face.

"Once the medicine opens him up we should see the number climb," Dr. Marmon explained. "His normal might be a little lower than 100, though. We'll know in a few weeks once the medications really start to take effect." Derek nodded at the information, feeling like the room was closing in on him, the sound of his heart beating in his ears alerting him to the fast, low beeping on the pulse oximeter beside Stiles on the exam table.

"Should his heart be beating this fast?" Derek asked nervously as he watched the little lines rise and fall in time with Isaac's rapid heartbeat on the small screen.

"It's just the albuterol. His heart rate will go back down soon," the doctor assured him.

"A-and the shaking. Is that normal? He was doing that last night, too, after we used the nebulizer."

"It's just a side effect. That will go away once the medication wears off," she said as she began to flip through the paperwork in Isaac's file on the counter.

"Calm down, Derek," Stiles whispered once the doctor had turned away.

Derek didn't say anything as he lifted one hand from the car and pushed his fingers through the toddler's little blonde curls, touch light enough that Isaac didn't even stir. _At least you understand everything that's going on right now, _Derek wanted to say in his usual manner, but he held his tongue and concentrated on breathing slow and even to keep himself together.

"He's going to be fine, Der. We just need to get him on the right meds."

Derek sighed, afraid to admit that he was overwhelmed; watching his son fight against the doctor and breathe from a mask made his heart ache in a way it never had before.

"Isaac's up to date on his shots and his blood work from the hospital a month ago looks great," Dr. Marmon smiled. "He's a bit small for his age, but according to the hospital records he was born prematurely. They did a skin test for allergies about six months ago and he was positive for mold, pollen, and a few types of grasses. Fall can be a particularly hard time for people with allergies and asthma, so that might be part of what's going on right now."

"The case worker said he had a peanut allergy," Derek remembered suddenly, thumb turning one of the wheels on the car over as his anxiety continued to grow. "We've been avoiding peanut butter but I was reading some stuff online and I'm a little worried."

"I have that in my file as well. I'll write you a prescription for an epi-pen and teach you how to administer it before you leave. I have a link to a great website that can tell you everything you need to know," she smiled as she began to fill in pages of her prescription pad.

Derek hated that she was smiling so much; he knew that it was probably to help keep the patients and parents calm, but instead it filled him with anger. _She_ wasn't the one who would be coaxing Isaac into sitting still for a breathing treatment like they'd had to the night before while he kicked and fought and fear coursed through his tiny body. _She_ wasn't the one who would be reading label after label in the grocery store to make sure the cookies he was about to eat with his lunch weren't made in a plant that processed peanuts, something Derek had only known because he'd been up all night after Isaac's terrifying episode the night before and started doing research using what they'd been told by Social Services.

"Der," Stiles whispered as he watched the way his husband's eyebrows were arched together in concern, lips a straight line as his eyes focused intently on Isaac.

"Don't," he whispered as he looked away, one sniffle enough to dissolve the tears that had started to fill his eyes. Derek barely listened as the doctor showed them how to give the epi-pen, eyes following her hands in a daze as she used a demo on Stiles' leg. There was so much information, so much that he didn't know, and it was all coming at him so fast.

"I wrote the link to the website on the yellow post-it," she said, pulling Derek from his fog as she handed him a stack of prescriptions.

"This is a lot of medication," Derek said as he paged through them. Words like _Ventolin_, _Flovent,_ and _prednisone _jumped off of the first three pages, his ability to read messy handwriting not helping the uneasiness sitting in his stomach at the moment.

"Once we get his asthma under control we can wean him off some preventers and the steroids," she explained. _Steroids?_ Derek thought, tears pricking his eyes; he remembered Stiles mentioning something about the probability of the doctor placing Isaac on them in the car, that they were different, somehow, than the ones he'd always read about in the news, but that the side effects could be less than desirable.

"Right now his airways are constricted and inflamed, which is why he's wheezing so much. To be honest, I'm almost ready to admit him based on his oxygen level, but everything is new to him right now and he was having such a hard time handling my office that I think the best thing would be for you to take him home and let him rest. Start the breathing treatments and keep them up, get him familiar with the inhalers and spacers. If it really seems like he's struggling to breathe, you can take him to urgent care or the emergency room and have them page me."

By then the nebulizer was dry and Isaac had woken up enough for Stiles to help him shimmy his shirt back on, so they were given the go-ahead to leave. The toddler shook in his father's arms from the medicine as they exited the office, his breathy whimpers a sign that he was feeling absolutely awful.

"Can you grab his juice cup?" Stiles asked Derek as he shifted Isaac so that he could rest his head on his shoulder. "The albuterol probably made his mouth dry."

Derek pulled the juice from the bag around his shoulder and wordlessly handed Isaac his Batman cup, the child sipping franticly as he snuggled against Stiles on their way to the parking garage. He had to look away to keep the jealousy at bay, which made Derek feel even guiltier; he hated that Stiles had known that Isaac's mouth would be dry because of the medicine, that his whimpers had signaled that he wanted something to drink. And the way he was curled in Stiles' arms made him wish the toddler would do that in his own, the comfort that would appear in his blue eyes always making him feel more distanced, somehow.

Out of fear he watched Isaac's sleeping reflection from the rearview mirror on the ride home, fist clenching in nervousness with each of the toddler's mid-slumber coughs.

"He's fine," Stiles stated when he caught Derek's eyes in the mirror and realized what his husband was doing.

"I was just making sure," Derek grumbled as he tore his gaze away from Isaac and looked out the window instead.

"He's going to be okay-" Stiles started.

"With the right meds, I _know_," Derek whined.

"You're still freaking out."

"Of course I'm freaking out!" Derek's voice rose, Stiles' accusation lighting the match. "Our son just had an asthma attack and he's being put on more medication than I've ever been on in my entire life and I can't understand how none of this seems to bother you!"

"It does bother me!" Stiles yelled, then realized that he needed to lower his voice when he saw Isaac move in the rearview mirror. "Look, we went into this knowing our child was going to have a chronic illness. We can manage this. He just needs to do his treatments and inhalers and hopefully one day he won't even need daily medication at all."

"He can barely climb the stairs without taking a break, and when he gets to the top he's wheezing and coughing. Hell, by the time he knows it's happening he can't even speak!"

"That's only because he hasn't been on preventers, Derek. We need to help him understand his triggers and symptoms," Stiles said. "Help him figure out when he needs to slow down."

"What, so he can be the kid sitting on the sidelines all of his life?" Derek asked.

"I have asthma and I wasn't sitting on the sidelines," Stiles reasoned, eyes focused on the road.

"You were second string for lacrosse until your junior year of high school," Derek pointed out.

"Yeah, but that was because I sucked at lacrosse, not because of my asthma."

"You heard what Dr. Marmon said, about how his case is probably severe."

"What she said was that we won't know for a few weeks. And even if it is, we'll be okay," Stiles assured him as he glanced in the rearview mirror to see Isaac watching the two of them argue, tears and hiccupy breathing starting due to the tone of their conversation.

"But what if we're not okay, Stiles? Hmm?" Derek asked as his anger flared, unaware of that fact that Isaac was awake and about to have a fit in the back seat. "What if the wheezing stays and his oxygen levels don't come up and he continues to have attacks in the middle of the night?"

"Seriously, Derek, you need to calm down or you're going to make him have anotherattack," Stiles warned as he stopped at a red light and unwrapped the lollipop they'd gotten at the doctor's to calm Isaac down.

The thought of sending his son into an episode was enough to quiet Derek and keep him from bringing the topic up again. Because he knew that his view on situation, that his overbearing tone would only make things worse for this new family that he so desperately wanted to work. So he bit his lip and watched Isaac sniffle and lick his orange lolly from the side mirror, fingers crossed the entire ride to the pharmacy that things would get just a little bit easier for them all.


	10. Chapter 10

Stiles returned to find Isaac in Derek's arms and both of them half-asleep in bed, Isaac bathed and wearing Stiles' old grey Beacon Hills lacrosse t-shirt, sleeves reaching the toddler's wrists and hem falling to his ankles. Stiles smiled at the thought as he walked over and sat on the edge of the bed.

"I couldn't get him to wear anything else," Derek explained tiredly, Stiles just noticing how bloodshot his husband's eyes were from stress and lack of sleep.

"Why don't you get to bed? I can do Isaac's meds," Stiles offered as he began to take items out of the paper pharmacy bag.

"It's okay, I can sit with him," Derek said as he shifted Isaac and sat up, yawn escaping.

"You're exhausted. Take a hot shower and get some sleep."

"You're tired, too."

"I can go another hour or so. It's fine," Stiles assured him as he lifted Isaac and grabbed a packet of medication so that they could do his treatment in the rocking chair. Derek rose slowly from the bed and let out a muffled _thanks_ as he shuffled out of the room.

"Snowmans!" Isaac smiled sleepily as he shoved _Snowmen at Night_ from the book basket in Stiles' face, which he promptly slid between the arm rest and padding so that he could maneuver Isaac and himself into the chair.

"I shouldn't have yelled at you before," Derek admitted as he paused in the doorway, back to Stiles while he prepped Isaac's nebulizer. "I wanted to enjoy some family time, too."

"It's okay. I get it," Stiles sighed, unsure if he was ready for this conversation. He could sense that Derek hadn't moved but continued to get Isaac's treatment started anyway.

"I just thought that we were doing so well, you know?" Derek asked, voice low. "He hadn't had an attack in a good three weeks and he was barely wheezing and we'd gotten him off of the steroids."

"Der," Stiles sighed. "It's okay. We're getting back on track," Stiles assured him as he pulled the book out to keep Isaac occupied and turned the machine on.

"I should have been home."

"Look, I know that I've been really hard on you recently about being on top of Isaac's asthma and allergies but this isn't your fault. He probably just caught a cold from one of the kids at school and-"

"I can be a better father. A better husband."

"You're a great father and husband, Derek. Nothing that you did caused this."

"But it's not just this time, Stiles," Derek sighed before he disappeared from the doorway.

x

"You let him play in the leaves?!" Stiles had asked through his Bluetooth as he rushed home from work the first Thursday of November, eyes scanning the rearview and side mirrors to see if it was safe to change lanes.

"I didn't think it would be a big deal," Derek explained as he held a wheezing and whimpering Isaac in his lap.

"Leaves are _full _of mold and pollen, not to mention ticks. Oh, God. Did you check him-"

"I'm trying to get his nebulizer together. Just…just give me a second, okay? One thing at a time," Derek sighed, overwhelming guilt weighing down on his shoulders. He didn't want to admit that he was having trouble remembering how to put the medicine into the reservoir because Stiles was usually the one to do it, so he used the directions on the box of albuterol sulfate to aid him until he finally got all of the pieces in place and turned the machine on.

"How bad is he?" Stiles finally asked, allowing himself to calm down a little once he heard the buzzing of the nebulizer.

"He _asked m_e for a treatment."

Stiles exhaled heavily. "I'll be home in two."

"I'm sorry. I wasn't thinking," Derek had said as he pushed a hand through his hair and sighed. Stiles held Isaac in his lap while he finished his treatment, the toddler feeling well enough again to play happily with his father's purple tie.

"Yeah, just like you weren't thinking when you gave him a Capri Sun with strawberries in it," Stiles said, words hitting Derek right in the heart.

"That was an accident, Stiles! The names on the boxes are similar and I grabbed the wrong one," he defended, tears filling his eyes as he thought about how he'd never confuse Splash Cooler for Pacific Cooler ever again.

"We can't afford to have accidents, Derek!" he yelled. "Especially when his peak flow is in the yellow zone. Did you not read the note I left on the kitchen counter? It said 'no playing outside today'."

"When I read it I thought that you meant 'no running'," Derek argued.

"You could have called me," Stiles said as he switched the machine off and removed the mask from Isaac's face.

"I did call you!"

"Yeah, _panicking_. By then it was a little late, Derek."

"I said that I was sorry."

"Isaac's the one you should be apologizing to, not me," Stiles said as he lifted the toddler from the bed and exited the room to give him a bath.

Derek leaned over the master bedroom's bathroom sink less than a minute later, elbows locked as he tried to slow his breathing down. He looked at himself in the mirror for a moment before the shame took over and forced him to drop his head. It didn't matter how many late night hours he secretly spent pouring over forums full of parents of children with food allergies or articles titled "Managing Your Child's Asthma"; he was the reason Isaac had gone into anaphylactic shock three weeks ago and the cause of his attack that day.

"I can be better," he whispered to himself, his heart aching so much that the feeling radiated throughout his entire chest. It was like he couldn't breathe and it made him wonder if this, on a larger scale, was what Isaac felt like everyday.


	11. Chapter 11

**Author's Note:** Major thanks to my beta-reader Casey and to all of you for sticking with me until chapter 11! There is lots more to come, so if you follow me or this story you will be getting updates soon! Don't forget to review!

* * *

"Isaac, Daddy's here," his teacher, Miss Joyce, announced happily as Stiles stood in the doorway. The two adults watched as the toddler slowly dragged his schoolbag across the floor from the colorful carpet where the rest of his classmates sat, eyes cast downward as he walked.

"Hey, bud," Stiles smiled as he squatted down and took the corner of Isaac's project in his hand. "Did you make this today?"

Isaac quickly pulled the paper from Stiles' grip, forcing it to rip right down the center, leaving each of them with one jagged half.

"Isaac, honey," he tried, body moving to pull his son close, but the toddler flinched and backed away, wrapping his arms tightly around his stomach over what was left of the project. Stiles took a deep breath and held back when he realized Isaac was having one of his days, the ones the child psychologist had said would crop up on occasion, often without any warning. The steroids he'd been taking since he'd come home from the hospital a little over a week ago definitely weren't helping the situation, either.

He could feel the teacher and parents behind him watching, judging his ability to handle the situation, and suddenly Stiles felt ill-equipped to even get his son to the car. Because when Isaac slipped into one of his "moods", something as small as getting him to hold hands crossing the street could become a vicious battle.

"He didn't really say much today," the teacher said as she pulled Stiles aside to talk and let the assistant start releasing the other children. He sighed as he glanced at the shredded construction paper in his hand, unable to keep himself from thinking that maybe everything that they'd worked so hard as a family to get past with Isaac was now working against them. "Wouldn't participate, didn't want to play with anyone. He had a bit of a meltdown in music and I had to take him into the hallway to calm him down."

Stiles was a teacher; he knew where the conversation was going. _I know that's not typical behavior for Isaac, so I'm a little concerned,_ was going through his head seconds before she said something similar. He nodded, unable to say anything as he focused on his son who was standing in the middle of the room hugging himself, lips pursed together like he was working his hardest to keep himself from falling apart.

And then the teacher asked, in a whisper, "Is everything okay?" and Stiles just pulled his lips in and let his head fall. Because things were definitely not okay. Not at home, not at work, not with anything. He turned his head away to keep himself from crying, because who cries when they go to pick their child up from preschool?

"His asthma meds make him really moody sometimes," Stiles found himself saying, voice low and dry, but he knew it was more than that and he could sense that the teacher did, too. She nodded and Stiles was thankful she could read subtext.

"He's, uh, been on a lot of medication since the pneumonia," Stiles continued, voice breaking as he added, "and he's kind of been all over the place because some of the treatments make him hyper and others make him drowsy or hungry or upset. I'm so sorry about his behavior today. We have an appointment with the psychologist coming up and I'll talk to Isaac about-"

She put her hand up to stop him and gave the most understanding smile Stiles had ever seen. "I'm not trying to make you feel judged, Mr. Stilinski. I know that your family has been through a lot in the past few months and I just wanted to touch base with you about Isaac. From what I've been observing, today was just an off day and I wouldn't worry too much about it, okay?"

Stiles nodded and thanked her before kneeling beside Isaac to attempt to coax him out of the classroom and into the hallway that he knew was full of people and strollers and noise that threatened to make just the trip out of the school a nightmare.

x

"We have to hold hands in the parking lot," Stiles told Isaac for a third time as they stood at the edge of the curb just outside of the school's entrance ten minutes later, patience fading as the toddler continued to hug himself tightly with no sign of budging any time soon.

That's when he finally lost it by grabbing his son's arm tightly and dragging him against his will to the car. "You need to start listening to me when I tell you to do something," came out between gritted teeth, and Stiles hated himself for each and every word. But the anger just kept growing inside of him and he couldn't get himself to stop, even as Isaac sobbed when Stiles forced him into his car seat and buckled him in because the toddler was too hysterical to do it himself.

Isaac fought the straps by swinging his arms and kicking his legs, but Stiles was quick and had the toddler situated before the tantrum could really begin. He knew he'd scared him; he'd heard that scream before, the one that came from a place so deep within Isaac that Stiles couldn't stop himself from imagining the terrors he'd read about on the initial CPS reports.

Stiles let his tongue run over his teeth as he drove home, cloudy eyes refusing to look in the rearview mirror as Isaac cried himself into a coughing fit.

"It's not personal," the child psychologist, Dr. Galler, had said during their second visit in September as Isaac sorted shapes on the carpet behind him and Derek. "His outbursts, those moments when he holds his arms up in defense or pulls away and wraps his arms around his stomach and sobs, are not a reflection of your parenting. They're his conditioned responses to stimuli that shouldn't make him feel uncomfortable but do."

"It's important to realize that his hierarchy of needs is slowly mending itself. Right now he's relearning some of the most basic things," Dr. Galler said in reference to Isaac's behavior. "Like the inner-workings of trust and how people express love. It's going to take some time to get him where he's not so concerned with security and he can move on towards feeling like he belongs."

It had taken them months to figure out how to handle and prevent Isaac's panic-stricken reactions each and every time something moved too quickly in his frame of vision or when he felt someone invading the two foot invisible box he'd created around himself. He hadn't wrapped his arms around himself since the beginning of December and the sight of Isaac looking so helpless worried him.

"I know it's still early and all, but Isaac's meltdowns are happening more frequently and it seems like they're getting more extreme," Stiles had said in late-October when he feared that they would continue to get worse and would reach a point where they wouldn't be able to handle them.

"Can you give me a recent example?" Dr. Galler had asked.

"Well, we went to Target last Saturday and he kept trying to climb out of the seat on the cart. He was crying and carrying on so I thought maybe he was uncomfortable," Stiles said. "It wasn't until I pulled him out and tried to comfort him that I realized he was overwhelmed by the noise and activity in the store. He was covering both of his ears and then he started screaming and kicking his legs and I could barely hold him. What made it worse was that I could tell by the way people were staring that they were thinking we must have smacked him or something to make him so upset."

"We get a lot of looks when we go out, being two dads and all, but this was different," Derek sighed.

"He just has these moments where he can't handle overstimulation or let the fear building up inside of him go," Stiles said. "We try to comfort him but he doesn't want to be touched so he immediately runs for his 'safe spot' under the dining room table. He also hides there when he's having trouble breathing and doesn't want to tell us because he thinks he'll get in trouble." Stiles shook his head and looked down in defeat. "It's like we try to do all of the comforting in the world and most of the time it's just not enough to let him know we're there for him."

"It makes me wonder if anything we do will ever be enough, you know?" Derek mumbled softly.

"Now might be a good time for me to mention that Isaac was beaming when he told me about how he bravely handled his strawberry incident last week," Dr. Galler said with a small smile as she pulled her recorder out. "I thought that it might help for you to hear some of what Isaac says during our time together to keep you from getting so discouraged. Are you two comfortable with that?"

Stiles and Derek looked at each other for a moment before nodding.

"I can't eat stwawberries anymowe," Isaac's voice rose from the recorder, clinking of wooden blocks audible in the background.

"Why not?" Dr. Galler asked.

"They made me weally sick."

"What happened when you had strawberries, Isaac?"

"My froat tickled," he explained. "And I got a attack so I had to go to the hosital."

"Oh, no! That must have been scary!"

"Mhmm."

"What did you do when your throat started to tickle?"

"I wanted to go to my safe spot 'cause I didn't want to be in twouble."

"Did you go under the table?"

"No. I told Daddy that my froat tickled 'cause him and Papa always say I need to tell them when I fhink I need my med'cine."

"What happened after you told them about your throat tickle?"

"I had to get a special shot that huwt weally bad but Daddy and Papa gave me lots of cuddles and kisses 'cause they was weally happy that I told them."

"What a brave little boy, Isaac," Dr. Galler said. "You must be very proud of yourself for telling Daddy and Papa even though you were so scared."

"Mhmm!"

"You said that you didn't want to tell them at first. Why not?"

"'Cause sometimes they fight when I'm sick."

"So you thought that they'd be mad at you?"

"Yeah, but they didn't have a fight 'nd even though Daddy was cwying he held my hand in the wambulance."

"What do you think you'll do the next time you have an attack, Isaac?"

"Tell Daddy and Papa that I don't feew good 'cause even though it makes them scawed they help me feew better."

"Do you think you'll go to your safe spot the next time you're scared?"

"I don't fhink I weally need it all the time anymore."

"Why not?"

"'Cause Daddy and Papa give cuddles and help me wif my med'cine and that makes me feew more better than hiding under the table all awone."

Though Stiles and Derek couldn't see Isaac's expression during the last ten seconds of the recording, they could both sense that he was smiling, feeling happy and safe and proud of himself for seeking help instead of hiding away. Stiles grabbed a tissue from the side table and dried his eyes, emotion evoked from the short clip enough to cause him to shed a few tears; the past two months had just been so _hard_ and hearing Isaac talk so confidently about choosing him and Derek over his safe spot even one time gave him such relief.

"What he did the night of the strawberry incident was a very big step forward for Isaac. It's definitely something you want to encourage him to do more often. Don't be discouraged by a few steps backwards over the next few months, though. Many things are still trial and error for him right now and he's trying to navigate new feelings."

A part of Stiles wondered if Isaac's bad day at school was just what Dr. Galler had told them to expect during that late-October session or something more. How could Isaac have grown so much over the past few months only to recede so quickly? As he sat at a long light with Isaac's wails still going strong behind him, he closed his eyes and took a deep breath to try and quell the worry that the break they'd been hoping for wouldn't be coming any time soon.

x

"He's not going to have an attack every time he cries, Derek! You need to stop being so

overprotective!" Stiles yelled, words spilling out of his mouth before he could even stop them. He'd just endured a horrible drive home in which Isaac had screeched and kicked the back of the passenger seat for the full ten minutes. The toddler was now crouched beneath the dining room table, Derek squatting beside him with the hope that he could get him to come out.

"Overprotective? Are you kidding me?" Derek responded, eyebrows knitted together in anger as he stood up. "I had to be the bad guy, Stiles! I had to be the one that begged you to agree to let the doctors intubate Isaac so that he could have a break from struggling." Derek took a deep breath and clenched his fist against his side, unwilling to let it go. "He's always struggling and I'm tired of feeling like I can't help him!"

"You think I don't feel like that?"

"I don't know what you feel, Stiles! It seems like lately you're feeling nothing at all!"

Stiles wished he could argue Derek's accusation, but he couldn't. Most of the past week had been just him in his office planning and gearing up for the state testing that would be happening in a few weeks. The only time he'd spent with Isaac was during his nightly breathing treatments where he'd opted for books on tape instead of having to read aloud because he was so exhausted.

"Papa!" Isaac cried, coughing a little. "Pa-pa!"

"He's wheezing," Derek said as he squatted down again, arms out as a means of welcoming Isaac into them. "Come here, Ize," he cooed.

"Can something not revolve around his asthma for one second?!"

"Did we not just spend nearly a week in the PICU, or have you forgotten-"

"You're coddling him instead of teaching him that his behavior is inappropriate!"

"Of course I'm coddling him! He's obviously upset!" Derek yelled. "For Isaac to be in his 'safe spot' something had to have happened. What did his teacher say?"

"That he had a meltdown in music and that he spent the day being antisocial. When I went to get him he ripped his project up and wouldn't let me go near him," Stiles explained, exasperated.

"Did you ask him what was wrong?"

He hadn't.

"Maybe if you'd tried communicating with him we wouldn't be at this point," Derek said as he gestured to a still-sobbing Isaac beneath the table.

Stiles' neck was growing hot beneath his collar, throat feeling just a little smaller than it had a few minutes ago. He slipped his hand into his pocket and made a fist around his inhaler, the one he kept not for him but for Isaac, before backing out of the room and slamming his office door behind him, breaths so shallow he wondered if three puffs would be enough.

With his tie undone and his collar loose, Stiles closed his eyes and tried to breathe, eyes stinging as he forced them shut, the absence of Isaac's agonizing cries more painful than the past fifteen minutes' worth of screaming.


	12. Chapter 12

Author's Note: I know it's been a while since I updated. I've got so much written but it needs to be edited and revised before it's posted so bear with me! And don't foget to review/leave a comment or link/rec your friends!

* * *

"Miss Joyce said that you got upset during music today," Derek said softly as he grabbed the shampoo bottle and squeezed a dollop into his hands. Isaac's playful babbling and pushing of his yellow rubber duck around in the water stopped, room growing quiet as he pulled the toy against his chest.

"Was someone being mean to you, honey?" he asked as he held the soap in his palm, afraid to make a move toward the now on-edge toddler. Isaac gave a small shake 'no' of his head and continued to hold the duck close, body leaning slightly away from Derek. He thought about letting the topic go, but the guarded, defensive stance that his son had taken on worried him, so he continued to press gently.

"Did someone say something that hurt your feelings?" Again, he shook his head once to the left and right, the rest of his body not moving an inch. "Were you being yelled at?" Another 'no'.

"When you're ready to talk about it Daddy and I are here to listen, okay?" Derek assured him, just as Dr. Galler had explained back in September. Isaac made a small nod and slowly let his arms fall, rubber duck back in the water but body still rigid, toddler watching his papa through his peripheral vision.

"Is it okay if I wash your hair now?" And there Derek was, back at the beginning, asking Isaac questions to make him more comfortable with the idea of someone making contact with him. The toddler took a moment to think about the question before giving a short nod, shoulders and neck still tense as Derek gently lathered the soap into Isaac's hair.

x

"Something had to have happened at school, Stiles," Derek insisted as he leaned against the doorframe of his husband's office. He was still unhappy about what had happened just a few short hours ago, but at that very moment he was so concerned with Isaac that talking to Stiles was a necessity.

"Did you ask him?"

"Yeah, but he wouldn't say anything. When I dropped him off this morning he was fine. Sang in the car, chatted as I walked him to his classroom. And then just now he was acting really weird in the tub. I had to start asking for his permission to do everything like we had to back in September because he was so tense." Derek took a deep breath and crossed his arms against his chest. "I know he can be temperamental but he doesn't just get like that anymore, you know? I mean, for him to be hysterical like that when you showed up-"

"He wasn't crying when I got to his school," Stiles interrupted quietly, eyes avoiding Derek's.

"Wait, I'm confused," Derek said as he took a step deeper into the room. "You told me that his teacher said he had a meltdown earlier in the day and that when you went to pick him up he was upset."

"He was upset when I got there but he wasn't crying," Stiles stated, knowing he'd have to elaborate if he wanted Derek to stop staring at him with those intense brown eyes.

"I…I couldn't get him to hold my hand in the parking lot and I kind of got…I guess I got frustrated and I was _yelling_ and I may have been a little forceful trying to get him into his car seat," Stiles rambled as he leaned his elbows on his desk and covered his face with his hands, hoping Derek would understand why he couldn't just snap himself out of the anger.

"What do you mean by _a little forceful_?" Derek's voice was hovering on the verge of irritation, and in that instant any hope that Stiles had of his husband understanding disappeared.

"I wasn't even angry at Isaac!" Stiles sighed and shook his head. "I had a horrible day at work and he just wouldn't _behave_ and I-"

"Stiles."

"He was kicking and screaming and I had to get out of there, Derek. It was like that time at Target and I didn't want Isaac to be the center of attention-"

"Did you hurt him?" Derek's voice deepened as he took a step towards Stiles.

"No, God no! I would never hurt him, Derek!" Stiles yelled as he let his hands fall and tried to make eye contact with his husband. "How could you even think that?!"

Derek took a calming breath and closed his eyes, knowing that his animal instincts, his will to protect, had taken over. "I'm sorry," he said, putting one hand up. "I know that you'd never hurt him, Stiles."

"I swear that all I did was grab his hand and pull him across the parking lot. You know how he is when he gets like that and you try to lift him up and he just kicks and flails. And then I had to hold his legs down to get the straps of his car seat secure but I swear it wasn't anything more than any other parent of a toddler in the middle of a tantrum has had to do before."

Derek looked at the floor, disappointed in himself for ever letting himself think that Stiles would lay a finger on Isaac like that.

"Look, it's probably just the steroids making him moody," Stiles said. "If something happened at school it could have been as small as someone not sharing a toy or sticking their tongue out at him."

"I feel like it's more than that, though," Derek said, instincts leading him. "Do you think someone teased him about having two dads?"

"I don't know, maybe," Stiles shrugged.

"I was thinking it was something bigger than that. Not that that isn't _big_."

"Bigger as in…?"

"As in having something to do with his birth parents."

"Shannon and Paul?"

"Yeah." Derek ran a hand through his hair before letting it fall to his side. "Dr. Galler said that he hadn't really dealt with those feelings yet during one of the last sessions and I was just thinking that maybe it's starting."

Stiles closed his laptop and leaned back in his chair with a sigh. "She said he'd talk about it when he was ready."

"Maybe this is his way of telling us he's 'ready', though. I don't blame him for feeling confused or angry about everything. We don't really know because we've never asked him and he's never shown any indication that something was bothering him until now."

"I'm sure that whatever it is it will come out if it's important," Stiles said before rubbing his face to wake himself up since he still hadn't finished everything he'd wanted to get done before bed.

"Yeah," Derek sighed, exhausted with not only the emotional state of the household but the way in which the week had dragged on. Grateful that it was at least Thursday night, he yawned and rubbed at the stubble on his chin and neck, purposely lingering in the doorway as he noticed Stiles' not-so-easy breathing. "Hey, you feeling okay?" he asked.

"Yeah, why?" Stiles answered, voice wavering.

"Your cheeks are flushed," he explained as he motioned to his own cheeks. "You really only get like that when you're asthma's acting up."

"I took a few puffs earlier," Stiles shrugged. "Not a big deal."

Derek hovered for a few seconds more to see if Stiles would say anything else before adding, "Isaac's upstairs waiting for you to do his treatment."

"You can do it. I'm too tired."

"After today I think you two could use a little bonding time, don't you think?" He raised one eyebrow, his way of answering the question for Stiles, before giving a small smile and heading for the dining room table so that he could send a batch of emails from his laptop before bed.

Stiles dragged himself up the stairs, feeling as though he was nearing zombie-status even though it was only eight o'clock. His eyelids kept trying to stay shut as he prepped Isaac's nebulizer and settled him in the rocking chair with _The Missing Piece_ by Shel Silverstein, one of the toddler's favorites.

"It was missing a piece and it was not happy," Stiles read tiredly as Isaac's eyes scanned the pictures on the pages over his mask. "So it set off in search of its missing piece. And as it rolled it sang this song, "Oh, I'm looking for my missin' piece, I'm looking for my missin' piece. Hi-dee-ho, here I go, lookin' for my missin' piece."

As always, Stiles stopped just outside of Isaac's doorway before getting into bed himself. His Dream Lite was on and casting colorful shapes across the ceiling, the toddler singing softly to himself as he often was, voice on the verge of sleep. Stiles was able to make out "hi-dee-ho, hewe I go, lookin' for my missin' piece", a small smile breaking out and giving him just enough reassurance that maybe things would slowly but surely get closer to the normalcy he so desperately wanted before he slipped into the covers of his bed, asleep before he could even find something to dream about.

x

It wasn't like Stiles to push people away, but Derek had seen him do it once before back when Stiles was in high school and the two were just starting to figure out that maybe there was more of a connection between them than just Scott. It was after Stiles' father had briefly stepped down as Sheriff, right when he and Scott had stopped talking. Back when they thought that Jackson had died and Lydia had come running straight to him, causing him to break his feelings for her once and for all after what was arguably the second most painful week of his life.

Derek could still remember pinning Scott against the wall after things had finally settled down for everyone else in the pack, anger surging through him as he scolded the beta for ditching his best friend.

"It's been a month, Derek! He doesn't want to talk to me!" Scott had yelled as he fought Derek's grip.

"Stiles isn't like you, Scott! He's not going to ask for help!"

"I'm not as weak as you think I am!" Scott shouted.

Derek let his arms drop and shook his head as Scott fell to the ground and landed in a heap, anger now coming in the form of forceful exhales through both wolves. "It's sad that your first worry was how I see you compared to others," Derek said as he caught his breath.

"I don't understand what that has to do with Stiles!"

At that, Derek came right up to Scott who was now bent over himself in exhaustion from fighting, and purposely put his face in his. "It has everything to do with Stiles," he muttered through gritted teeth. He took a deep breath to steady himself and his voice. "If you took a moment to think about how good a friend he's been to you, you wouldn't have had to ask. But since you did, I'll give you an answer. Think about this: Your best friend, a fragile human, always running around solving your little werewolf conundrums, putting himself in danger even though he could get killed. Imagine this: Him waiting for you, not even to hear you say 'thank you', but to have someone familiar help him see that things are going to be okay."

Scott looked away when Derek's gaze became too much for him to bear, the truth overwhelming. "He was there for you before the Bite and he stuck with you through it even though you treated him like shit. And I don't know why he still considers you his best friend, but he's miserable and he needs _you_, Scott."

The beta had promised he wouldn't tell Stiles that he'd had to be nudged into ringing the doorbell of the Stilinski house. The Sheriff had answered the door and let him in without a word, Scott muttering a small 'thanks' before climbing the stairs and turning the knob of Stiles' bedroom.

It didn't take much observing to realize that Stiles' asthma was flaring. The air purifier was out and oscillating in the corner, nebulizer a permanent fixture on his desk beside his computer with the telltale box of solution. And at least two of the orange circles that capped his rescue inhalers, the ones he usually leaned back in his chair with and shot in the air like highlighter caps, were embedded like random spots in his navy blue carpet.

"Hey," was all Scott could manage after a month without his best friend by his side, and the reality of the situation finally set in when Stiles turned from his screen and gave a raspy, "Hi," in response.

"Did my dad put you up to this?" Stiles had asked, and it felt like he was talking to a stranger. Scott was leaner, taller. His bushy black hair had grown and he'd bought a new hoodie. "Because if he did, I-"

"He didn't," Scott stated, and it was the truth. Half of it at least, which, by Scott's standards, was always enough. "I just figured, you know, since we haven't really spoken much in the last month or so that maybe we could…start talking again?"

Derek could feel Stiles' apprehension from miles away, but he could also feel a bud of relief, the constriction in Stiles' lungs lessening just enough to break him from the month-long flare his father had made him see a pulmonologist for. He could always sense the slight narrowing of Stiles' airways when trouble came to Beacon Hills and he fought beside the pack, but he didn't know that it was asthma. That some nights, after the pack had taken care of things, he went home and took long, hot showers before prepping a treatment, even if it was three in the morning and his dad might hear.

Derek had always been able to feel Stiles' struggle with air, but it'd never had a name. He thought it was just anxiety, knew the teen had suffered bouts of it ever since his mother had passed. Being aware of it was pure instinct in the same way that he could hear Stiles' heartbeat clear across town. It wasn't until that August night when Stiles' cold had reached a critical point that he realized how serious the constriction could get, and he'd been so exhausted from work and trying to save money for their wedding that he almost hadn't noticed.

x

"Der?" Stiles whispered breathlessly as his hand fell on his sleeping husband's back later that night. He dragged in a slow, agonizing breath before calling out for him again.

"Hmm?" Derek groaned as he shifted a bit beneath the sheets, Stiles' voice too low to really wake him.

"C-can't breathe," he managed, heart rate increasing at the realization, eyes wide in the darkness as he turned towards his nightstand to try and find his inhaler. Before he could get a hold of it, though, he felt two strong hands maneuver his torso so that he was sitting up against Derek's warm body, lungs aching more and more with each shallow, wheezy breath. Stiles felt the plastic of his inhaler in his hand a moment later, cap off and canister already shaken, and brought it to his mouth to take two quick puffs. He let his head fall back against his husband as the albuterol began to take effect, his stubble scratching at the top of Stiles' head a comfort he was suddenly grateful to have.

"M'sorry…I woke you," he said before letting out a few small coughs.

"Just breathe, Stiles," Derek coached as he rubbed his husband's arm with gentle strokes, voice easy-going from both sleep and concern. Stiles closed his eyes and tried to focus on his breathing, but the silence began to bother him, emotions from the day taking over and causing his mind to race.

"R-remember when y-you offered…to change me?" Stiles asked softly, inhaler still in his hand as he shifted so that he could lean deeper into Derek's body.

"Shh, let the medicine work," Derek soothed.

"When I was…in the hospital," he continued, ignoring Derek's instructions. "You were holding my hand." A small smile came across Stiles' slightly parted lips in the dark. "A-and you said, 'If you let me change you…you'll never have to feel that again.' Do you remember?"

"Yes," Derek whispered.

"And I said, '-"

"No. You said, 'No.'."

Stiles took another slow, wheezy breath in and licked his lips. "I bet you…wonder why."

Derek didn't answer, just listened to his husband struggle, knowing that the medicine was still making its way through his weak lungs.

"I wasn't sure you'd…understand," Stiles continued. "The way you offered…the reason you wanted to give me the bite…and you still didn't push."

"Do you want me to get the machine out?" Derek asked.

"M'fine," Stiles wheezed. "And you're avoiding…the conversation."

Derek clenched his jaw, thankful that Stiles couldn't see it, and sighed. "It's been a few minutes and you're still having a hard time."

"Of course I'm having…_a hard time_, Derek," Stiles responded with a bit of sarcasm. "My airways decided to randomly…become inflamed…and fill with-"

"Babe, can you please limit the talking?" Derek asked, though it wasn't really a question as much as a command. "At least until your wheezing lessens? Jesus, I'm surprised it didn't wake me up in the first place. I don't even know how you have the breath to talk right now." Stiles lifted his hand with the inhaler in it as a reply, knowing Derek could see it now that their eyes had adjusted in the dark.

"Anyway, I'm glad you woke me," Derek said softly as he leaned his chin atop Stiles' head. "And I'm sorry that I was such a short fuse this afternoon when you got home with Isaac."

"This isn't your fault," Stiles whispered.

"I don't know," Derek shrugged, voice barely audible. "Lately it just feels like a lot of things are; I know I can be difficult and stubborn. And I'm trying with Isaac. I'm trying so damn hard." He took in a shaky breath and for a moment Stiles thought his husband might start crying. "I want to be able to fix it. Make everything okay when it isn't and I _can't_."

"I know you wish you could…take it away. From me. And Isaac," Stiles said before swallowing and taking as deep a breath as he could. "That it keeps you awake some nights." _Like it will tonight_, Derek thought as his stomach continued to grow with anxiety. Only Stiles and Isaac had ever been able to do that to him since Laura was gone. Make him feel. Fill him with love and worry and the instinct to protect. It was what he loved most about them, and he knew that if they were bitten that all of that would change. That his instincts would change with them, and what would he do if he couldn't feel that any longer? It was selfish, of course, but knowing that Stiles had said 'no' and that Isaac was too young to survive the bite was enough to help him power through those agonizing moments of worry.

"If I had kept my temper down earlier, hadn't stressed you out-"

"I got a pink slip today," Stiles whispered, chest tightening at the thought.

"What?"

"T-they said that…the budget might not p-ass, and I was one of the…the last ones hired …" Stiles choked out, hot tears streaming down his cheeks. He hadn't meant to cry, knew it would clog his nose and make his breathing worse, but the silent sobs had come anyway.

"Honey, I'm so sorry," Derek said softly, Stiles nodding in reply as his husband tried to sit him up just enough to quell the wheeze that had picked up again. "We'll figure it out, okay? Maybe the budget will pass and the hype is all for nothing."

"I'm up for t-tenure, Derek…a-and I…I finally got…_comfortable_…" Stiles rambled, inhales strained and exhales so wheezy that Derek was afraid that they were beyond a third puff from the inhaler.

"I'm getting the nebulizer," Derek stated gently. "Let me grab a packet from Ize's-"

"N-no," Stiles wheezed, the fingers of his left hand weaving between those of Derek's and squeezing tight. "Don't. Just…hold me? P-please?"

Derek almost objected, had even opened his mouth to tell Stiles how afraid he got when he strained so much to get a decent breath of air that he could feel every muscle in his husband's body working for it. Instead, he took a deep breath and let it out slowly; Stiles knew his asthma better than Derek ever could, sans the night that August when he'd ended up in the ER, and right now he needed control more than anything else.

So Derek took every pillow on the bed and lined them against the headboard before pulling Stiles against him again, shifting them both onto their sides until they found an angle Stiles could breathe comfortably at. He fell asleep with the uncapped inhaler in his right hand, just in case, Stiles' hand residing in his left.

x

Stiles' alarm went off at five thirty the next morning but he'd been up most of the night breathing at half-capacity, propped up against the pillows pushing for his lungs to just open up and work. Still in sleep pants and a t-shirt, he pulled his nebulizer from the closet and snuck into Isaac's room to grab a packet of medication, careful to keep his footfalls soft so as not to wake his husband or his son. He put the TV on low once he got comfortable on the couch downstairs and took deep, even breaths of the medication, lungs thankful for the misty relief.

It was about five minutes into his fifteen minute treatment that he noticed Isaac standing with his blankie wrapped around his shoulders like a cape, pacifier in his mouth as he watched worriedly between the middle bars of the stairwell. Unable to leave his place on the couch, he waved the toddler over, hoping that it would be enough. When he saw that it wasn't, he took the mouthpiece out of his mouth and patted the open spot beside him with a raspy, "It's okay, Ize."

"Daddy sick?" he asked as he hobbled down the rest of the stairs, pacifier hanging from its clip on his shirt as he scrambled across the living room and hopped onto the couch.

"Just a little," he coughed before taking a few deep breaths from the mouthpiece again. "I'm sorry I woke you, honey."

"It otay," Isaac shrugged, and Stiles couldn't help but smile at how much the action reminded him of Derek. "I read to you."

Stiles wanted to protest since it was so early in the morning and he really wasn't in the mood, but Isaac was already dragging his blankie across the living room, free hand rummaging through the basket of books nestled among a few of the toddler's toys in the corner. "Luna!" Isaac announced as he held the book up for him to see before getting comfy beside Stiles. "Daddy loves 'Luna," he smiled as he opened to the first page of Janell Cannon's _Stellaluna_.

"One suponna time there was a baby bat who lost his mama bat," Isaac began, finger quickly running across the text on the page as if he were an expert reader. It made Stiles smile again as his lips stayed secured around the mouthpiece, lungs still craving every molecule of albuterol that they could get. The toddler continued to read, turning some pages with his whole hand for just a moment before correcting himself and trying to use just his index finger and thumb so as not to wrinkle the pages. Stiles couldn't get over how Isaac had taken charge of the story, changing details around and giggling when a picture was too funny to narrate right away.

"And the mama bird 'dopted 'Luna 'cause he didn't have a mama bat no more," Isaac read, finger tapping on the page full of text. "And 'Luna was scawed but it was otay 'cause the mama bird gave him kisses and cuddles and helpded him learn how to fly."

Stiles felt his chest squeeze, but it wasn't his asthma; Isaac, he realized, was paralleling his own experience with the storyline of the book. He suddenly wished Derek were there to share the moment, but he didn't dare stop Isaac from finishing. Thinking that maybe Derek had been right about Isaac trying to reach out and express his feelings about the past few months, he patiently listened to each and every one of the toddler's words.

By the time Isaac said, "The end," Stiles nebulizer had been dry for a few minutes. He'd held out so that he didn't disturb the toddler's reading, finally shutting the machine off and opening his arms for a much needed cuddle session.

"That was the best reading of '_Luna_ that I have ever heard," Stiles smiled before kissing Isaac on his forehead and covering the two of them in the toddler's baby blue blanket. "Thank you, honey. It made me feel a lot better."

"Welcome," Isaac blushed as he snuggled against Stiles' chest.

"I'm sorry that I yelled at you after school yesterday," Stiles apologized as he brushed his fingers through Isaac's hair. The toddler clutched his pacifier and tensed up, pulling the corner of his blanket into his other hand for comfort. "I know it's hard for you to say how you're feeling sometimes and that you get overwhelmed when there's a lot of noise and people. You were sad and I wanted to make you feel better but I didn't know how to so I got frustrated. I also had a bad day at work and that had made me sad, too. What happened yesterday afternoon is not your fault, sweetheart. Okay?"

Isaac gave a small nod, body still rigid against his father, blanket tight in his fist. "But I made you sick," he whisper-sniffled as he hid his face in Stiles' shirt.

"Oh, honey, you didn't make me sick," he assured the toddler with the softest tone he could manage. "I'm just upset about work, baby boy."

"But you onwy take med'cine when you're stwessed and I was bad yesterday."

"You weren't being bad at all, Isaac. We were both having an off day and I made it worse by getting angry at you," Stiles explained, but he knew it wasn't enough. If he was going to rid Isaac of his guilt, he was going to have to do better than that. "Hey, do you know what my favorite time of the day is?"

Isaac thought for a moment, still refusing to lift his head completely from Stiles' shirt, and responded with, "When Papa makes your coffee?"

"No, that's my second favorite," he laughed. "It's when I get to pick you up from school or Gampa's and you tell me all about your day on the car ride home," Stiles smiled as he rubbed gentle circles around Isaac's back.

"Weally?" he asked as he looked up, eyes smiling.

"Really," Stiles smiled. "Now, how about we squeeze in some Nick Jr. before Papa gets up?" Stiles offered as he changed the channel, the toddler nodding happily as he sucked on his pacifier and cuddled against his daddy.

He'd expected to feel Isaac's gaze on him as they watched _Little Bear,_ but every glance into his peripheral told him that the toddler was too busy following the animals on the TV to bother with what Dr. Galler had termed hyper vigilance, and that? That shocked Stiles. Because following every one of his attacks (and Stiles' on the rare occasion that his asthma acted up), Isaac would go into a state of hyper awareness where he couldn't keep his eyes off of his daddy or papa, often watching them with such intensity that sometimes he'd hold his breath, eyes wide as if he were waiting for something bad to happen.

Concerned, they'd brought it up to Dr. Galler, who'd reminded them that Isaac was still trying to figure out how responses from his new parents worked. In Isaac's case, it was the care they offered during his most vulnerable moments, from cradling him in their arms and coaching him through puffs of his inhaler to keeping tabs on him for hours after and expressing their worry through body language.

"He's never had parents who respond to his attacks like that and he can sense your anxiety," she explained. "He's just trying to figure out whether it's the good or bad kind. Until now, he's only ever known bad anxiety. Nervousness. Anticipating that something negative will happen, forcing him to think the attack and everything that happens as a result is his fault. For the first time he's grappling with the idea that people can be anxious because they care, not because they're upset or want to inflict pain."

"But he becomes hyper vigilant after he sees me use my inhaler or take a treatment, too." Stiles had added.

"Isaac knows that stress is your main trigger. And when family situations that involve him grow tense, he sees that they sometimes cause you to get sick. He worries when he sees you like that but he's conflicted because he confuses concern with guilt."

"He's always apologizing for things he doesn't need to be sorry about," Derek said before going into the details of one particular night when they'd woken to Isaac crying through the monitor. His covers were rumpled, toddler missing when they went to check on him. Derek could hear quick sniffles coming from beneath the bed, so he'd had Stiles crouch down and pull Isaac out, wetness from his clothes transferring onto his as Derek turned the whale lamp on.

"I had a bad dweam," Isaac wheezed as he clung to Stiles.

"Your bed's all wet, honey," Derek said softly when he realized Isaac had had an accident.

"I sowwy," he sniffled, on the verge of tears again as he hid his face in Stiles' shirt. "I sowwy, I sowwy."

"Shh, it's okay, Isaac. It was an accident. We'll just take a quick bath and change your sheets," Stiles explained.

"I sowwy I was bad," he wheeze-sniffled.

"You don't have to be sorry, sweetheart. You didn't do anything wrong. That's why it's called an accident," Stiles assured him.

The toddler sniffled the entire five minutes in the bathtub as Stiles washed him since he'd soaked himself through every article of clothing he was wearing as well as his bed sheets. He made a mental note to not let him have so much to drink before bed and to buy a pack of pull-ups for nighttime even though Isaac was fully potty trained. Derek had offered to change the sheets, thankful he'd purchased a rubber sheet to go beneath the fitted one for moments like this.

"He sounds like he needs a treatment," Derek said groggily as he rubbed his face when Stiles returned with Isaac in a towel.

"You have to be up in two hours. Go back to bed, I'll make sure he's okay," Stiles offered.

"You have to be up in two hours, too."

"He only needs a few puffs of his inhaler, it'll take five minutes tops."

"You did it last time. Go ahead, get some sleep," Derek insisted.

"He's going to fight it," Stiles yawned. "And you're gong to need my help." So while Derek changed Isaac into new underwear and a loose t-shirt, Stiles got the inhaler and spacer ready.

"No!" he whined when he saw Stiles bring the inhaler and spacer into view. "I don't want!"

"You're wheezing, honey," Stiles said.

"It make me shaky!"

"I'll use the non-shaky medicine," Stiles assured him softly as he switched the Proventil with Xopenex from his nightstand drawer. "See?"

"N-no," he cried as he tried to climb out of Derek's arms. "I sowwy. I didn't mean to be bad. Don't make me!"

"You didn't do anything wrong, Isaac. We just want to make sure you don't have an attack from your bad dream. How about Daddy takes a puff first?" Stiles asked, and Derek realized why he wouldn't be able to handle it on his own. He couldn't use the medicine like Stiles, and it broke his heart. He tried to hold Isaac still as Stiles modeled two puffs, the toddler's whining growing louder when he realized it was his turn.

"N-no!" he cried, turning his head away from Stiles, who began to secure the spacer mask against his tear-streaked face anyway, knowing from experience that they'd never get it done at this hour if they waited for him to agree. Four puffs later, Isaac was still crying, power in his breaths increased due to the medicine.

"Shh, you did so good, baby boy," Stiles cooed when they were done, taking him from Derek and wrapping him in his blankie to give a few sips of water from his cup. "It's okay, relax."

"I sowwy I was bad," he continued to sniffle after he'd calmed from the water. "I won't do it again. I pwomise."

"Honey, we're not mad at you. Not at all. Close your eyes, I'll stay 'til you fall asleep," Stiles soothed as he placed a pacifier in the toddler's mouth, the sucking sensation calming him. His eyelids fluttered closed.

"One day he's going to realize that not everything bad that happens is his fault," Dr. Galler promised.

"But when?" Stiles had wanted to ask, found himself needing to know at that very moment.

It was as he and Isaac cuddled post-treatment as Little Bear jumped about their flat screen that he got his answer.


	13. Chapter 13

**Author's Note:**

Hey everyone! I know it's been a while since I last posted; I'm sorry. I've been super busy with work. The good news is that school's out for summer, so I will have more time to write. I'd like to say thank you to everyone who has stuck with me thus far and to my beta, Casey, who is AWESOME at what she does!

Please leave a review/comment. Follows/favorites are cool, too. It just lets me know what you guys are thinking and also makes my day. :)

* * *

Stiles was rearranging lessons early that Saturday morning when the door to his office creaked open just enough to catch his attention.

"Isaac? What's wrong, baby?" he asked with open arms when he saw that the toddler was crying.

"I has a missing piece," Isaac mumbled through his tears, arms wrapped tightly around his tummy.

"A missing piece?" Stiles asked, playing along as he leaned over in his chair towards his son. "Where'd it go?"

"H-heaven," he said, voice small as he sniffled, and Stiles felt his heart collapse in on itself.

"Oh, Isaac," he whispered as he pulled the toddler into his arms and held him tight as he sobbed with his entire body.

"I miss Mama," he whimpered and Stiles lifted him up so that he could rock him from foot to foot.

"I know you do, baby. It's okay to miss her," he assured Isaac.

"Pwomise?"

"Promise."

"Do you miss Gamma?"

"Every day," Stiles admitted softly, knowing exactly what had to be done.

x

"These are yours, honey," Stiles explained as he gently spread the pictures the case worker had given them out on the living room carpet for Isaac to see. "There's only four, though, so we have to be careful with them."

"Mama!" Isaac exclaimed as he reached a small hand out and picked up one of him and her touching noses. "Mama kisses!" he explained with a smile as he tried to show Stiles, tear trails drying on his red cheeks.

Stiles couldn't decide how he felt about watching Isaac with the pictures; it was like every little string that had developed between them over the past five months was pulling tight, threatening to break. The toddler had mentioned Mama a few times before, but it wasn't until ten minutes ago that Stiles realized that Isaac had been grieving, and how could he deny him that process?

Isaac grabbed another picture and let his blue eyes study it for a moment, one hand coming to his lips as he let himself get lost in the pixels. Stiles had to look away to keep the tears from coming, watching Isaac remember his mother making it feel like he was looking at a stranger.

It was a reminder that Isaac hadn't always been theirs, that even though Stiles had spent his whole life wishing for a child as sweet and loveable as Isaac, he'd once been someone else's. Someone else's baby boy and universe, he'd hoped, the first thing on their mind before they fell asleep and upon waking in the morning.

Shannon Lahey hadn't admitted to Social Services that the money issues they were experiencing were a direct result of her husband's drinking. That Isaac's medication was never refilled because she had no control over their finances. When they first questioned Paul's excessive alcohol use, Shannon had promised that he was attending AA meetings despite the fact that the growing number of disorderly conduct police reports proved otherwise. He was suspended from his position in the firehouse after it was found that he was responding to calls under the influence, PBA card no longer helpful once his reputation had been soured.

Shannon had struggled with alcohol on-and-off herself, but it was Mr. Lahey that had been verbally and physically abusive; Isaac's weren't the only hospital records on file in the case. Stiles' father had mentioned the one encounter he could remember with Shannon as he and his son went over paperwork concerning the adoption. How she'd seemed so afraid, nervous that the police and social services would find out her secrets. He'd sensed the abuse, had put in a call, but Social Services was already on it, he was told, and after he filed his report, that was it. The Lahey's had slipped through the cracks; it was as plain, and sad, as that.

Stiles had never met Shannon, nor had there been any record of her stating that she was afraid of her husband, but he'd had it set in his mind for a while now that that was the truth. That that night his father had responded to the dispatch call Shannon had been trying to protect her precious child. Somehow, this story created a sense of comfort for Stiles; thinking these things made it just a little bit easier to bear the circumstances of which the toddler had become the center of their lives.

And then Stiles was thinking about his own mother, how her eyes had smiled and her freckles would grow darker in the summer, and a few unwelcome tears slid down his own cheeks. All of the air deflated from his lungs and he closed his eyes as little arms wrapped around him, a sweet kiss landing on his wet cheek.

"It otay, Daddy," Isaac whispered as he comforted Stiles from behind, his small hand rubbing his back in little circles. "I miss Gamma, too."

"Thanks, baby," he smiled as he wiped beneath his eyes.

Derek appeared just then in the doorway to the living room with a bag of bagels and the newspaper, worry apparent in the way his eyebrows were joined. "What's going on?"

"We has missing pieces," Isaac sniffled, and Stiles could feel his own tears pressing again, just enough to let him know they were ready to fall once the right nerve was hit.

It took Derek a few seconds to respond to what was unfolding before him, the phrase "missing pieces" confusing him until he saw that Stiles had pulled their safe box down, which was now open on the middle of the living room floor. The bag of bagels and newspaper would have to wait; he set them down on the table in the hallway before approaching his husband and son, eyes afraid to look at the grey box in case he caught a glimpse of the few photos that remained from that awful day when he was sixteen, all but one partially destroyed by those flames that had taken so much from him.

"I thought we weren't going to show these to Isaac until he was older," Derek said quietly, trying to keep his irritation from forcing the tone of his voice to rise.

"He came into my office crying and when I asked what was wrong he said he missed his mother," Stiles whispered as he watched Isaac pick up another photograph, the only one of the bunch that included his father. "You would have done the same if you'd heard the way his voice broke."

Derek sighed softly and nodded in agreement, thinking about how he looked at Isaac sometimes and wondered what he'd look like as a werepup. Not even his necessarily, though secretly a small part of Derek had always wanted that. He imagined his asthma attacks being stopped in their tracks by a set of healable lungs, the initial cries and hiccups forcing him to wolf-out and put a smile on his and Stiles' faces instead of filling them with the fear that Isaac's next breath might be his last. It was something he sometimes dreamt about when he was too tired to keep it from entering his mind, the small semblance of reassurance in the idea that maybe one day he'd grow out of the disease the one thing that kept him going.

Derek took his eyes off of Isaac engaging with the photographs and found that one of the pictures splayed out on the carpet was of him as a weretot stumbling around in the backyard. His father's face was just out of the frame, but his arms, those strong, loving arms, bordered his son's tiny body, his index fingers and thumbs gripping Derek's forearms so that he wouldn't fall down. It made Derek wish another picture had been saved in its place, one of his parents when they first started dating or Laura at her Kindergarten graduation or even that black and white photograph of his grandparents, the ones he never actually knew, that was so faded he always had to fill in the trees and sky in the background to make it seem complete. Now the pictures that had been lost all felt like that, memories that were fading as the years post-fire wore on. On some nights, when he tried to distract himself from Stiles' labored breathing, he busied his mind with the task of remembering the details of those lost photographs, usually that picture of his dark-haired mother with her hands pushing the camera away, light blue of her denim sundress coming back to him as he'd finally fall into the first stage of sleep.

"Papa? Whose that?" Isaac asked as he pointed to the only picture left of Laura before those of their lives in New York that fill his laptop.

"That's…," Derek started, looking to Stiles for direction; his husband nodded for him to go on, to which he answered faintly, "That's your Aunt Laura, Isaac."

"Whewe is she?"

Derek had to look away, could feel his heart pounding in his chest, face burning as he tried to form the answer on his lips. The silence in the room told him that Stiles was giving him the space he was always so grateful to be given when things got too emotional for him to bear, but he couldn't even get himself to say the word in his head. He wasn't religious, hated using _heaven_ as his answer, though that wasn't the only reason why.

"Maybe it means something different to everyone," Stiles had whispered one night after an intense round of pillow talk that Derek is glad he consumed too much tequila to remember fully.

"Is she your best girl fwiend? Like Aunt Lyddie is Daddy's?"

Even Stiles felt that question hit him right where it hurt. When the tears pooled and began to stream from Derek's eyes, Stiles knew he'd been broken in a way that he hadn't been in a long, long time.

"Yes," Derek croaked out, breaths coming fast as he tried to keep the pain from rising from his center. "She was my best friend. My only sister."

"Does she wive far away like Aunt Allie and Uncle Scott?"

"No," Derek shook his head, hand falling on his heart. "She went to heaven, Isaac. Like our mommies and my daddy."

"Why'd she have to go to heaven?"

Things had already gone past the point where Derek usually shut down, and Stiles couldn't help but think his husband looked wounded hunched over as he sat on the carpet, the arch in his eyebrows and pain in his eyes so in tune with each other that Stiles decided it was best to intervene.

"Sometimes we don't know why people go to heaven, honey," Stiles sighed softly as he gathered the pictures in a careful pile and placed them into the grey box.

"No!" Isaac cried out as Stiles went to lock the box. "Mama!"

"They'll be safe in here," he tried to assure him, but Isaac was too busy carrying on to hear.

"Mama!" he cried, hands going for the box as Stiles lifted it from the carpet. "No! No! I want my ma-ma!"

"Shh," Stiles tried to soothe as he lowered the box to the ground and took Isaac tightly in his arms. "I know you miss her, baby. Daddy knows it so much that it hurts."

"Mama!" he cried, sob reaching a tone Derek was sure he'd never heard before as Stiles bounced him lightly in his arms. "Ma-ma!"

Derek's first reaction was to chastise Stiles for pulling down the box in the first place, but as he watched Isaac sob in Stiles' arms, fingers gripping his dad's t-shirt for dear life while he wailed, he found himself taking a mental step back and a deep breath before standing up and wrapping his own arms around the two most important people in his life.

x

Stiles didn't go through Isaac's backpack until the following Monday morning to add his peanut-free snacks and medications for Gampa's. Finding his school folder full, he pulled it from the bag. As he began to scan the monthly newsletter he noticed a heart-shaped paper flutter to the floor, glue between the poem and colorful cardstock having made it stick.

_On Valentine's Day come sit with me_

_and make yourself a cup of tea!_

_We'll share our love, just Mommy and me,_

_there's no other place I'd rather be!_

Stiles' eyes diverted quickly to the newsletter for more information; apparently the class was hosting a Mommy-and-Me Tea for Valentine's Day. There was no sentence after the invite that discussed bringing someone special in the case that Mom couldn't come and Stiles' heart filled with dread. Of course he'd talk to Miss Joyce, would arrange something so that Isaac wasn't alone at his class party. He tried not to let the lack of regard for their family dynamic bother him and instead focused on Isaac.

How he already knew that the toddler would spend the entire tea watching the room explode with energy, eyes following each mom as she interacted with her child while they did a craft together or picked at snacks. It would be just like the two birthday parties he'd already attended for other children in his class: Moms either hovering over their child or standing clumped in a gossip circle in the corner. There were never dads, he noticed, and though he'd tried to mimic a sort of moderated version of what the mothers were collectively doing, it was blatantly obvious that Stiles, and Isaac, were different.

It wasn't even the "two dad's" thing that annoyed Stiles the most; it was knowing that Isaac had had a mother, that her absence in his life felt somehow different than that of a child who had never had someone to call Mom in the first place. And Stiles understood that, which was why he hated parties that focused on gender and titles and why he never had them in his class.

He felt a squeeze in his heart and shuddered when he read, "We've started practicing "You Are My Sunshine" in music so that we are in tip top shape to perform at our tea!"

That song. The one that had Isaac screeching as they played a new children's CD in the car sometime around Thanksgiving. The one that made Derek pull off to the shoulder so that Stiles could get to the backseat, where he couldn't get the buckles of Isaac's car seat undone quickly enough. The song that had Stiles swaddling Isaac in his blankie as they sat parked on the side of the road for nearly twenty minutes while the toddler sobbed "Mama" uncontrollably until he didn't have the energy to cry anymore.

It had been _their_ song, Derek and Stiles realized as they shared a long moment of eye contact once Isaac was safe and sound in the confines of dreamland, another reminder of the world their son had known when they weren't in it. Stiles had spent countless hours trying to find a way to prevent it from happening again; "He can't go his entire life being afraid of that song," Derek continued to say whenever it was brought up, and Stiles knew he was right.

So he waited until Derek returned to the kitchen to grab his final coffee for the morning before he wordlessly slid the invitation across the counter.

"Well," Derek sighed after reading it and pushing it back to Stiles. "This explains the past four days."

"Yeah," Stiles agreed with a sigh.

"I guess we can just not send him to school that day."

"Pretty sure they're going to be talking about and making projects for this thing over the next few weeks. We can't just keep him home and pretend like it isn't happening," Stiles explained. "Maybe I can take half of the day off."

"And be the only father?"

"Something like this was going to happen sooner or later, Der."

"I was hoping _later_."

Stiles sighed and tapped his fingers on the counter. "Me too."

"Should we call Dr. Galler?"

"No, I'm tired of running to her whenever things get confusing. She's been great and all," Stiles said, stopping Derek from interrupting by putting his hand up. "But we need to start handling things on our own without getting her direct advice all of the time."

Derek took a long breath in, jaw set as he stared at Stiles.

"You don't agree."

Derek exhaled slowly and swallowed, jaw barely moving in the process.

"So you do agree?" Stiles asked. Derek looked away quickly and took a sip from his coffee mug. "Are we really going to play this game right now?"

"Daddy?" Isaac asked from the doorway, his blanket hanging from one hand.

"Yes, baby?" Stiles asked, voice softening as he turned away from Derek and focused on their son.

"Let's find your shoes, Ize," Derek interrupted as he pulled his keys across the counter, metal scraping the granite.

"But I don't wanna go to Gampa's," Isaac sniffled.

"We're going to be late," Derek said to him as wrapped his hand around Isaac's shoulder and tried to push him gently into the hallway.

"No!" Isaac whined. Derek was beginning to think it was the toddler's new favorite word as he felt Isaac squirm from beneath his grip and watched him fall to a half-hysterical heap on the floor. "No!"

"I just gave him his meds like fifteen minutes ago," Stiles sighed as he bent down to pull the toddler up from the floor. "It's the steroids. He can't help it."

"I wanna stay wif you 'nd Papa!" Isaac sobbed as he clung to Stiles, tears and drool staining his father's light blue dress shirt as he carried on; it was moments like this that made Stiles and Derek feel most guilty about working full-time, and the fact that Isaac was refusing to go to his grandfather's, the one place he loved to be the three days a week he didn't attend school, worried Stiles.

"Gampa's waiting for you, Ize. He wants to take you down to the station for a bit to play with the police doggies," Stiles soothed.

"Doggies?" Isaac sniffled, perking up at the idea.

"And maybe if you're really, really good he'll let you wear his Sheriff badge for a little while," Derek added softly, Isaac's face lighting up, tears forgotten. Stiles was thrown off for a second by his husband's comment, how positive it was and how Isaac had responded to it. It made him think that maybe things were changing, that they could do this without rushing to call Dr. Galler when they didn't have an answer. That maybe all Derek was doing in the kitchen as his eyes, those intense, dark eyes, focused on him, was holding back so that he wouldn't, _couldn't_, say the wrong thing.

He let his own lips curve into a smile as Isaac wiggled out of his arms and ran to find his shoes.

"I agree," Derek whispered post-peck on his way out the door.

x

"So remember when I had that minor freak out just before Derek and I took Isaac home because I was afraid there'd be moments when he'd need a mom-like figure and we wouldn't know what to do?" Stiles asked, words moving with barely a beat between them once he heard that Lydia had picked up.

"Minor as in consumed nearly enough liquor to tranquilize-"

"Minor as in it was short-lived and I got my bearings straight once I realized how much I wanted to hold him in my arms."

Lydia paused for a moment before she asked, "You need me to play mom?"

"No," Stiles sighed. "More like…aunt? Isaac's got this Valentine's day tea at school and all of the kids are going to have their mothers there except for him and I know things are pretty busy for you in the lab and stuff around this time of year but-"

"Of course I'll be there," she replied softly.

"He's been having such a rough time lately and the whole tea thing really kept him upset all weekend and I just wanted him to have _one_ thing to look-"

"It's fine, Stiles. I'm actually pretty honored that you asked me first."

Stiles pulled his head back and gave a confused laugh. "What makes you think I asked you first?"

Lydia paused, just long enough for Stiles to notice that she had, forcing him to intervene with, "I was kidding. You're the only one, Lydia. He needs someone that will make him feel like the luckiest little boy at that tea and that someone should be you. Even Derek said so."

"Not because Allison is three thousand miles away?" she asked in true Lydia fashion.

"Isaac adores you, Lydia. And you're the only one we trust with this," Stiles said. "_That's_ why we're asking you."

"Just give me the day and time and I'll be there."

"I owe you big time for this," Stiles insisted.

"You don't owe me for anything, Stiles," Lydia laughed softly. "Isaac's my little buddy. I like seeing him happy." They shared a moment of smiles before she jumped in with, "Speaking of happy, how are things going between you and Derek?"

Stiles knew she was talking about the late night messages he'd sent back when they'd first gotten home from the hospital and their days were filled with endless breathing treatments and running around the house trying to get Isaac to down all of his antibiotics and steroids instead of family days out; he'd begged Derek more than once to say yes to just a half hour to grab McDonalds or Panera only to be shot down. "His immune system isn't strong enough yet," Derek would mumble, and Stiles would find himself remembering watching Isaac struggling to breathe against the hugeness of the hospital bed.

"Better," Stiles said, sure that Lydia could infer his shrug through the phone.

"Yeah, I don't believe that for one second."

"Really, though, things have been pretty good," Stiles said before giving her the details of their weekend.

"You guys need a real night out," Lydia proposed, which is how she ended up at their doorstep that Friday night.

"Hey, we did his bath and treatment early so that you wouldn't have to," Stiles explained as he let her into the house. "As always, help yourself to whatever. The movie should be over by twelve thirty the latest, but we can come home early if-"

"We'll be fine, Stiles. I've watched Isaac before," Lydia stated.

"Yeah, but his asthma's different at night," Derek interjected as he came down the stairs, fiddling to get his watch secured. "Make sure you keep the monitor on once you put him to bed. He usually coughs a little in his sleep, but if he has a fit or if it sounds like he can't catch his breath then you need to go and check on him."

"Got it," Lydia said with a swift nod, eyes rolling just enough for Stiles to pick up on.

"Usually two or three puffs of his teal inhaler will help; it's on his nightstand with the spacer. Oh, and I already set the nebulizer up in case you have to give him a treatment."

"We went through all of this the last time," Lydia reminded him, sounding bored.

"No peanuts or strawberries," Derek continued, ignoring Lydia. "Benadryl and Epi-pens are-"

"Kitchen, first cabinet on the right. There's another set in his room with the rest of his medications. _I know_. Now, go and enjoy your first real night off as parents."

"No liquids after seven. And he won't sleep without Balto _and _blankie, so-"

"Goodbye!" Lydia sung with a smile as she pushed Derek towards the door, Stiles following with a grin.

"And no Spongebob!" Lydia heard after she'd slammed the door shut and turned the lock. She shook her head and chuckled, feeling pleased with herself before joining Isaac on the couch.

"Nemo?" he asked, Balto in his lap.

"You've got it, kiddo," she smiled and grabbed the remote.


	14. Chapter 14

As always, thank you for sticking with my story. I'm so glad that so many people are enjoying it. Shout out to Casey for always being the amazing beta reader that she is.

Please leave comments! They are greatly appreciated and help fuel my writing. I also want to know what you guys think/what your reactions are! :)

* * *

"On the way to school yesterday Isaac pointed to his belly and told me that his stuffing hurt," Derek chuckled as he and Stiles flipped through their menus. "I told him that humans don't have stuffing and then he asked me what a human was." He shook his head, sharing a smile with Stiles before he added, "I don't even know where he comes up with this stuff."

"Doc McStuffins," Stiles explained knowingly, pinpointing the bacon cheeseburger he'd been craving all day at the top of his current menu page. "It's a show on Disney about a little girl that takes care of her stuffed animals. I let him watch it while he does his morning treatment."

The waitress came over and took their drink and food orders before collecting their menus.

"Anyway," Derek continued once the waitress had left. "I brought it up because I think the new antibiotics are bothering his stomach."

"I know. I brought it up to Dr. Marmon at Ize's appointment yesterday and she said it was just a side effect. I mentioned the mood swings, too."

"Also a side effect, I presume?"

"Of the steroids, yeah. We already knew that from last time, though."

Derek nodded and looked out of the window beside their table, sudden somber reflection in the glass catching Stiles' attention.

"Hey," he whispered reassuringly, reaching across the table and placing his hand atop Derek's.

"I'm just really worried about him," Derek sighed; Stiles could tell that his husband wasn't focusing on the cars and people passing by outside. "Poor kid's always going through so much."

"I'm sorry we didn't really get a chance to talk about his appointment yesterday. Marmon said his lungs sounded good, though, so she lowered his steroid dose." Stiles' voice was hopeful as he smiled reassuringly and squeezed Derek's hand. "At this rate he could be off of them in another week or two."

"That's good news," Derek said softly, but Stiles knew he still needed more proof that things were getting better. "What was his oxygen level?"

"98. She said he seemed upbeat and wasn't wheezing, so she was very happy."

"Good," Derek nodded as he moved his eyes from the window to his lap.

"Hey," Stiles prompted again, hand finally taking Derek's in his, fingers weaving between that of his husband's. "What's going on? You're shutting down on me, babe."

"I'm just tired," he shrugged.

"We can go home," Stiles offered. "Get our food to go."

Derek shook his head, eyes still avoiding Stiles'. "Not like that. I'm not exhausted. Not physically, at least. Just…"

"Emotionally?" Stiles asked.

Derek nodded.

"Things are getting better, babe. I promise. Isaac's finally doing well; his x-rays are mostly clear and he's starting to be his happy little self again. And I know last weekend was a lot to handle, but a lot of good came out of it. Your idea about framing the picture of Isaac and his mother and placing it on his nightstand was a great idea."

"I don't know," he shrugged. "I'm still second guessing myself on that one."

"He sang to her, Derek. Wednesday morning. I walked in on him singing "You Are My Sunshine". They must have practiced in school on Tuesday. The picture was in his hands and he was _happy_."

Derek looked up.

"I know we don't always get it right, but we try, Der. Isaac knows that," Stiles assured him. "He knows that we aren't trying to replace her. He knows that we understand."

"He was smiling?"

"Like she was right there in the room with him."

"How'd you get him to put the picture down?" Derek asked, knowing that Monday and Tuesday night had been a series of small meltdowns that had made him doubt that the idea was even a healthy one.

"It was different this time," Stiles said before going into the details of that morning with Derek.

"Rise and shine, baby boy," he'd cooed as he crossed the room, ready to pull Isaac from his bed and get him dressed for the day.

"Wait," he'd said, putting up a small hand as if to say _stop_ before grabbing the frame with both hands and giving the glass a kiss. "Morning mama kisses," he explained happily before he left the frame behind in the bed and climbed into Stiles' arms.

A half an hour later, the toddler wouldn't budge from the downstairs hallway.

"It's okay, Isaac. We put a picture of Mama in your school bag, remember?" Stiles asked, the toddler nodding slightly. "Where else is she?" he asked softly as he knelt down in front of his son.

"My heawt," he whispered, hand falling against his chest.

"That's right. She's always in there."

"I miss Mama," Isaac started to whimper, eyes filling no matter how hard he tried to stop them from doing so.

"She misses you too, Ize. I promise that she does."

The toddler had just nodded and sniffled, hand staying right on his heart as he tried to maintain his composure. Stiles had to take a deep breath before he could put his own hand over Isaac's, his own eyes watering.

"Can Papa's mommy be in my heawt, too? Like Gamma?" Isaac asked. Stiles could only nod, even as he relayed the story to his husband.

Derek grabbed both of Stiles' hands from across the table once he was finished and gave him a small smile, eyes lighting up. "Thank you," he mouthed before taking a deep breath and letting himself relax.

x

"So," Stiles started as he spun the ice in his drink around with his straw, food having just been delivered to their table. He wasn't sure where to go with the statement, knew they'd spent most of the date so far talking about Isaac; he couldn't figure out if that was what other married people with children did when they had date night, if what he and Derek were doing was _normal_. It was just that Isaac was so central to their lives at the moment that it was almost as if he'd forgotten what it was like to just be Derek and Stiles.

"I wanna take Isaac to a baseball game. Maybe the Angels or Dodgers," Derek said as he started digging into his food.

"Or the Mets?" Stiles asked, face lighting up as he squeezed ketchup onto his plate. He'd always had an unwavering love for the blue and orange of the team's jerseys, even if they were based in New York.

"You and your Mets," Derek laughed as he gripped his burger and shook his head.

"What?!" Stiles smirked, and Derek rolled his eyes.

"Maybe we can catch a Dodgers-Mets game," Derek proposed once he'd swallowed his first bite, and Stiles was already coming up with ways to acquire the tickets.

"Hey, remember how we talked about signing Isaac up for soccer?" Stiles asked. Derek nodded as he took another bite of his burger. "I'm just a little worried that he might not do well with all of the running, especially if his spring allergies are anything like they were in the fall. And you know I'm not one for limiting him, but my dad mentioned police activity league tee-ball and I thought it might be something worth considering."

"Aren't the games for that on Saturday mornings?"

"Yeah, that's the only problem," Stiles said, knowing that Derek usually worked half days on the Saturdays he wasn't traveling.

"If Isaac wants to play, it's more than fine with me. Plus, there's at least one weekday game, right?" Derek asked, trying to remember from when he was little.

Stiles nodded. "Two practices and two games a week, starts mid-March and goes until June."

"You did your research," Derek laughed, raising an eyebrow. His voice deepened. "I like that."

"I always do my research," Stiles flirted back.

"Is that right, Mr. S?" Derek smirked.

"Actually, you should check my browser history-"

"How's everything going over here?" the waitress interrupted, seeming slightly flustered as she breezed by their table.

"Fine, thank you. Can we have the check?" Derek asked, looking at his watch.

x

"The ad said to put your phone away," Stiles whispered once the theater darkened.

"I just want to make sure everything's okay at home," Derek said.

"Lydia texted me a half hour ago and I quote, for the second time, 'Isaac's in bed and monitor is on. Everything's fine. Text you in an hour to keep Derek off your back.'"

"She hates me," Derek mumbled.

"She doesn't hate you, she's just being Lydia," Stiles said as he slid his phone back into his pocket.

"She thinks I'm overprotective."

"Because you are," Stiles said. "But I understand why, so it's okay."

"She thinks it's a bad thing."

"That's because Lydia hasn't seen Isaac in the middle of an attack. She's never seen him use his inhaler or take a treatment. To her, his asthma's almost non-existent. That isn't the Isaac she knows," Stiles explained. "Don't worry so much about what Lydia thinks."

"Of course I worry about what she thinks, Stiles. She's home with our son!" Derek's voice raised just enough to prompt a few 'shhs' from moviegoers around them.

"Tonight is supposed to be about us relaxing and all we've managed to do is talk about Isaac," Stiles sighed.

"I can't get him off of my mind," Derek admitted.

"Me neither."

"Maybe we should just go home. What if-"

"He won't," Stiles interrupted, knowing that the toddler was maxed out on medications. "We need tonight, Derek. For _us_. To keep _us_ sane. We need a break and I know we've been really bad at letting ourselves relax so far, but we need to try a little harder here."

"I keep thinking that if I push Isaac out of my mind something bad will happen," Derek explained.

"Same for me. But I know he's in great hands with Lydia and that she'll call us if something isn't right."

"Doesn't make it any easier," Derek sighed.

"Let's just pretend we're on our first date," Stiles smiled and took Derek's hand in his. "And that I just made a super bold move by holding your hand."

"Like you did the first night we went out, when it wasn't even supposed to be a date?" Derek laughed softly.

"Exactly," Stiles smirked. "And we can pretend that Scott and Allison, the two most oblivious people in the world, are sitting next to us in the dark again while we-"

"We don't have to share the details of our first date with everyone around us," Derek whispered, laughing into Stiles' ear. "I like to think of it as our little secret."

"So does that mean I can't do this?" Stiles whispered, hand running from Derek's knee up to his groin. Derek jumped a bit in his seat, the sensation too strong to ignore.

"If we were the only two here I'd jump you like we did that time on vacation, when we went to that eleven o'clock movie, but there's like a million people in here-"

"We can make bets on how long we can make it through the movie before running out to the Camaro," Stiles teased, nose nuzzling behind Derek's ear.

"Ten bucks says an hour," Derek murmured as he let Stiles trail kisses along his jawline.

"Just ten bucks? Geez, it's not like we're married or anything," Stiles laughed, and they were met with a few more 'shhs'.

"Fifty bucks, one hour. And I'll do that thing you like," Derek offered, putty in his husband's hands.

"You'll do the thing I like anyway," Stiles toyed.

"What's your wager?"

"A hundred, whole movie."

"So you don't want sex…"

"Oh, I want sex," Stiles said slyly. "I just want to see how long you can handle me before you drag me out to the car by my belt loops."

"Who said I'd be doing the dragging?"

"Guess we'll have to see," Stiles winked just as the movie started.


	15. Chapter 15

**Author's Note:**

Hope that everyone is enjoying their summer and this fic! Thanks for reading and replying. Again, I'd like to thank my beta reader Casey for all of her time and feedback. I know that this chapter is short, but I have a LOT coming that is finally coming together thanks to her wonderful skills.

Please comment/review! It really means a lot to me!

* * *

"Someone had a little fun tonight," Lydia commented with a smirk as Stiles pulled his wallet out to pay her, her hand running playfully through his messy brown hair.

"Maybe more than a little," Stiles laughed, top teeth pulling across his bottom lip. He flipped through a small stack of bills and handed them over to Lydia.

"Keep it," she insisted, pushing Stiles' hand back.

"You just babysat and put to bed a toddler hyped up on breathing meds and prednisone. There's no way I'm letting you walk out of here with anything less than fifty bucks," Stiles asserted, though it was more jovial than anything else.

"It's fine," she shrugged, adjusting her purse on her shoulder. "Besides, it's obvious that you and Derek spent a good portion of your evening worrying about Isaac."

Stiles tilted his head sideways for a moment, bills frozen in his hand, eyes narrowing as he wondered how she knew.

"Derek barely said goodnight to me before racing upstairs to check on the little guy," she smiled, voice soft. "I do a lot of babysitting; I know these things."

"And I know that you deserve to get paid for your time, even if Isaac was a sweet little angel."

"Which he was," Lydia assured him. "So keep your money. We'll do lunch, soon. Your treat." She gave Stiles a peck on his cheek and a little wave before placing her hand on the doorknob.

"Lydia," Stiles exhaled, fatigue hitting him as he let his hand with the money in it drop to his side. "Please? Just take it?"

"Later, Stilinski," she quipped as she flipped her hair and rolled her eyes, sound of her heels padding down the steps distinct in Stiles' mind as he closed and locked the front door.

x

"I really wish I was up for round two but I'm so exhausted that I'm not sure I can even get myself undressed," Stiles mumbled from his place atop the comforter, belly down and feet hanging off of the bed.

"That's my job anyway," Derek whispered as he pushed half of his hand beneath the waistline of Stiles' jeans.

"Mmm. Maybe I can just lay here and you can have your way with me."

"That's more like it," Derek said, voice deepening.

A single cough came through the baby monitor, the two pausing and listening for a moment more before continuing.

"Are you gonna do that thing I like?" Stiles mumbled sleepily. "I know you were too busy with other stuff in the Camaro-"

Isaac's cough picked up and continued on. Derek pulled his hand away from Stiles' pants with a sigh. "I'll go," he offered, giving his husband a quick peck before heading down the hallway.

x

"False alarm," Derek explained when he returned nearly five minutes later, relieved that the toddler was just suffering from a case of dry mouth, throat included, no doubt a side effect of one of his medications.

"I figured," Stiles said, knowing that Isaac hadn't sounded congested or wheezy.

"Where were we?" Derek whispered as he put his hand back between Stiles' pale skin and the waistband of his boxers.

"I might fall asleep on you," Stiles warned, welcoming Derek's hand by turning over onto his side.

"I think I can change that," Derek whispered into his ear before he pulled at the ends of Stiles' jeans and boxers and inched them down his legs.

x

"I'm afraid to leave you again." Derek's voice was low as Stiles took the ramp from the Long Beach Freeway to the airport, cold January rain making it difficult to see the moon from the passenger seat. He could hear Isaac's wheezy but even snores as he slept in his car seat, sound comforting in a way that he couldn't explain.

"I can handle Isaac for two days on my own," Stiles assured him.

"It's not Isaac I'm worried about."

The sentence threw Stiles off for a moment; all he could do was lean his left elbow against the window and sigh. He knew Derek was referring to his mid-night attacks, a combination of anxiety and asthma that would wake him from the deepest sleep and leave him feeling like an elephant was sitting on his chest. Derek wasn't stupid; he knew Stiles was sneaking in treatments while he was at the gym or running errands, had seen the open plastic nebules that had held the medicine at the bottom of the garbage can in their bathroom.

"I haven't even needed you the past few times it's happened," Stiles reasoned. "It's gotten better."

"Because you've been doing treatments behind my back."

"That's," he started, voice filling with sarcasm and wit to try and override the truth in Derek's statement, but all he could finish with was a bland, "…not entirely false."

"The more I travel, the harder all of this gets. Leaving you and Isaac, trying not to worry that something will happen and I won't be home to fix it? That is going to occupy me until I walk in the door on Thursday. I just…need you to keep your meds up, okay? At least until I get back."

"Sure," Stiles mumbled, but it wasn't reassuring enough for Derek.

"I really don't want that 4AM phone call, Stiles. Please. Just do this, for me?"

"I haven't even been to the hospital for my asthma since we first started dating," Stiles explained, starting to get annoyed that this was still the topic of conversation. "I think you're letting your imagination run wild and it's making you anxious."

Derek wanted to reply with a statement about how he didn't need an imagination to remember the painful gasps and blue tint on Stiles' lips that day he found out about Stiles' asthma or how he'd needed two back-to-back breathing treatments at Isaac's bedside in the PICU to get rid of his wheezing, but he held back because he didn't want to fight before he got on the five-hour plane ride to New York. "I'm not getting out of this car until you promise me," he stated sternly once Stiles had pulled up to the Kiss and Fly lane.

"Say hi to Scott, Allison, and Tessa for me," he said as he put the car in park and popped the trunk so that Derek could get his suitcase.

"Stiles," Derek warned, voice rising, hand resting on the door handle.

"Text me when you land."

"Not leaving until you give me your word."

"Fine," Stiles said, lifting his hand like he was giving an oath. "I solemnly swear to keep up my meds. Happy?"

Derek didn't like Stiles' sarcastic tone, but a glance at his watch told him he'd have to take it.

"I love you," he said before kissing Stiles and leaning back to give one to Isaac, too. Seconds later he was out of the car, pulling his suitcase from the trunk in the rain and wheeling it into the terminal.


	16. Chapter 16

**Author's Note:**

I never would have imagined this story ending up as long and loved as it has! Thank you to everyone who has kept up with it along the way. I read every review/comment and smile when I see your kudos. And thanks to Casey, as always, for spending so much time reading and editing the rough drafts that I send her.

Also, is anyone interested in making an art piece for this story? Even just one drawing/edit that I could post as the "cover"? I think it would be a really cool collaboration to work together! Message me/comment if you are interested! :)

* * *

Derek killed time before his flight out of New York by passing through the paperback section of the nearest in-terminal Hudson News, realizing early on in his search that he'd read most of what was good on the shelves before deciding the same about the magazines. He finally focused in on the picture books, smiling as he eyed some of Isaac's favorites. It wasn't until _Peter, the Knight with Asthma_ jumped out at him, though, that he picked one up off of the shelf. The cover was bright and featured a young child dressed in shining armor battling a green dragon from his bedroom. Derek couldn't help but laugh and open the book, thinking of Isaac as he devoured each page. He pushed it towards the cashier and pulled out his wallet before he could stop himself.

It wouldn't fit in his carry on; he needed to get a smaller laptop if he was going to keep traveling like this. So he held it under his arm as he boarded and slid it into the seat pocket in front of him.

"Kid has asthma?" the woman beside him asked and he didn't have to look over to know she was of the business type. The ones that traveled too often to have a relationship wherever home was, always dressed for a meeting, able to pack their entire life into the largest carry-on suitcases allowed.

"Yeah," Derek chuckled as he made eye contact, something he would have never done if she hadn't asked such a question.

"How old?"

"Three," he explained as he pulled his phone out to text Stiles that he'd be taking off soon.

"Is that him?" she asked with a smile as she pointed to his home screen, Isaac's blonde hair and blue eyes radiant in the dim cabin light.

"That's my Isaac," he found himself saying, surprised that he was letting the conversation continue.

"He must've gotten your wife's eyes."

"He's adopted, actually. My husband and I-"

"Oh," she giggled nervously, catching on. "I'm…I'm sorry. I shouldn't have…oh, God…"

"It's fine, happens all the time," Derek smiled, fumbling with his ear buds, not really wanting to put them in just yet.

"My daughter loves that book," she finally mentioned, pulling out her own ear buds but keeping them in her lap as she unlocked her phone and showed Derek a picture of her seven-year-old child. "Got us through some tough flares."

"We've had a really hard time getting his asthma under control lately so I thought it might cheer him up. Make him feel a little more powerful."

"Round-the-clock breathing treatments?" she asked, and Derek felt guilty for misjudging her just a few minutes beforehand; had she thought the same about him?

"And steroids."

She nodded and gave an understanding whistle. "The mood swings are a killer."

"Tell me about it," he laughed, suddenly thankful that someone else outside of their tiny family understood.

"I hope your little boy feels better soon," she smiled before turning her music on and tuning everything out. Derek gave a small smile and thank you before doing the same, reading Stiles' text _miss & love you. see you soon_ before placing his phone on Airplane mode and closing his eyes.

x

Derek slid into the passenger seat and paused after a quick kiss at the slight strain in his husband's breathing.

"Everything okay?" Stiles asked at Derek's reaction as he checked his mirrors, blinker on so that they could merge into traffic.

"Yeah, just...missed you is all," Derek smiled, looking to the back seat as a means of hiding his concern. "Where's Isaac?"

"Home with my dad. I had to dose him with Benadryl and I figured he'd be less miserable in bed than the car seat."

"He had a reaction?"

"Just hives around his mouth. They went down pretty quickly and I gave him his bedtime treatment early just to be safe," Stiles explained as he got on the freeway.

"What'd he eat?" was all Derek asked, but Stiles knew there was a tone-shift coming.

"That's the thing," Stiles sighed, running a hand through his hair. "I sent him into school with a safe lunch and snacks, so I don't know."

"He was okay when you left?"

"Wouldn't have driven to get you if he wasn't."

There was a pause, and Stiles imagined Derek grinding his teeth before he said, "You waited to tell me."

"Because you were on the plane when it happened and I didn't want the first text you saw to be _that_. Especially now that he's fine." Stiles tried to keep his voice down, but he was tired and dealing with overprotective-Derek was not on his list of things he wanted to do at that very moment.

"Was he scared?" Derek's voice was low as he looked out the window. Stiles took an easy breath, hoping they could keep the conversation even for the rest of the ride.

"No," Stiles said, shaking his head. "He wasn't even wheezing this time. I just happened to notice the hives on our way home."

"So he ate something at school?"

"Probably, yeah."

"Or it's a new allergy to something that's usually safe?"

"Could be."

"Well, no need to be alarmed or anything," Derek grumbled, true feelings about the situation finally coming out. "It's not like our son has life threatening food allergies."

"What do you want me to say, Derek?!" Stiles asked, suddenly exasperated. "_I don't know what he ate_. I tried asking every variation of "did you share food with friends" and "was there a birthday party" but he kept saying 'no'." He rubbed his face once and took the deepest breath he could, exhale a long, drawn-out sigh. "And then he was really tired and cranky from the medicine and Dr. Marmon suggested that I give him a higher dose of steroids to stave off any kind of relapse reaction so I figured I'd just let him rest."

"You called Dr. Marmon?"

"She gave us her cell number at one of our last appointments and I got nervous for like a quick second, okay?"

Derek went to respond but closed his mouth and studied Stiles for a moment when he heard one, slight hitch in his husband's breathing, noticing for the first time that night that his eyelids were hanging heavily. He was wheezing too, but it was faint, even to Derek's ears, and he suddenly imagined Stiles glancing back at Isaac through the rearview mirror earlier that day only to detect red, raised hives on the toddler's face.

His stomach had probably dropped as he went through the mental checklist: No wheezing, lips aren't swelling, hives are centralized, doesn't seem irritated. He hadn't been there, of course, but he knew that Stiles had probably thought of him next, debating what he'd tell his husband and when. The withholding of information would cause an argument or at least warrant the raising of voices until they walked in the front door and pretended that everything was fine. He heard the wheezing again, just a bit louder this time as Stiles switched lanes, and Derek realized that he had probably been so busy keeping Isaac in his peripherals and making sure that he was hive-free that he'd forgotten to take a puff from his own inhaler.

"Hey, I didn't mean to get on your case," Derek tried, voice soft, hand sliding over Stiles' free one atop his lap as a means of apologizing. "You look exhausted. Why don't you pull over and let me drive."

"I'm good," Stiles yawned.

"Babe." His tone said it all, attention so focused on getting home to Isaac after they switched places that he didn't realize Stiles had fallen asleep with his head against the window until they pulled in the driveway.

x

Derek was alternating between the jet and soaker settings of the hose that first nice Saturday in February, watching the suds slide down the sides of his black Camaro when he thought he heard Isaac's voice. His grip on the sprayer loosened as he looked first towards the side gate and then at the front door.

"Papa!" Isaac yelled worriedly, body sandwiched between the metal door and frame. "Daddy sick!"

The three-year-old was in Derek's arms before the hose could even hit the pavement. He thought he'd heard the lawn mower sputter out a few minutes earlier, but he'd figured it'd just meant Stiles had finished the backyard and was cleaning up.

Instead, Stiles sat hunched over himself on the back steps of their wooden deck, half of the backyard still not mowed, deep wheezes audible each time his shoulders lifted and fell. Derek put Isaac down and pulled out the spare inhaler he'd grabbed from the kitchen, device shaken and cap removed by the time he handed it to Stiles. The first puff was barely inhaled before it caused a coughing fit that racked his husband's body, and Derek squatted beside him quickly to lift him into a better sitting position.

"Easy," Derek soothed as he gently rubbed circles against Stiles' back, coaxing his husband to take a second puff as he took a seat beside him. Stiles continued to shoulder-breathe once the next puff was inhaled, his body straining as he tried to bring the plastic to his lips again. Derek helped him hold the inhaler in place and kept his back straight as Stiles pressed down on the canister, third dose finally successful, his wheezing beginning to lessen.

"Daddy?" Isaac asked tearfully from behind them.

"He's okay, baby. Just give him a minute," Derek assured their son as he motioned for him to come over and sit in his lap while they waited. Stiles began to cough again, medicine having opened up his lungs enough to leave them feeling sensitive.

"Does he have to go to the hosital?" Isaac sniffled from his place in Derek's arms.

"N-no," Stiles wheezed, eyes pleading with Derek's before his lungs started to spasm again and another coughing fit started up.

"We'll see in a few minutes," Derek decided, fingertips trailing Stiles' back in circles again as he tried to catch his breath.

x

"Awe you gonna wear the fishy mask again, Daddy?" Isaac asked from Derek's lap as he prepped the nebulizer on the living room couch beside Stiles, who was leaning with his forearms on his thighs, breathing still quick and shallow. Derek raised an eyebrow as he made eye contact with Stiles.

"I…I had an attack…while you were in New York," Stiles sighed wheezily, defeat audible in his voice. "My neb was…on the top shelf of the closet and…Isaac was the only one home, so…"

"I helpded Daddy feel bettew," Isaac beamed, smiling wide as Derek connected the tubing from the machine to the mouthpiece.

"You did a great job, baby," Stiles smiled tiredly, hand on his chest as he coughed.

"Why don't you go up to our room and watch some Disney, Ize," Derek suggested, knowing it was one of the toddler's favorite channels. "Give Daddy some time to do a treatment and feel a little better before dinner. What do you think?"

"No hosital?" Isaac asked worriedly.

"Nope. Daddy just needs some more medicine and rest," Derek smiled, though Isaac didn't seem so sure.

"Go ahead, honey," Stiles said weakly, the toddler finally smiling and giving his father a quick hug before racing up the stairs. "At least he's…breathing better."

"You will be too once I get this treatment started," Derek promised as he flipped the switch and handed the misting mouthpiece over to Stiles, who happily accepted it.

"What're you doing?" he asked after a few good breaths of the medication, watching as Derek took his hand and concentrated with his eyes tightly shut.

"Extracting some of your pain."

"M'okay," Stiles tried to reason, but Derek shook his head and continued his work. Stiles suddenly thought back to that August night in the hospital, how Derek's hand had refused to leave his and how in the day following, Derek had dark bags under his eyes that he'd only seen once since on the night Isaac was admitted to the PICU.

"You've done this for me…and Ize…before," Stiles said as he felt the grip on his airways loosen significantly. "Haven't you?"

"More times than you know."

"I shouldn't…have kept…this from you."

"I knew you weren't okay when I left for New York," Derek admitted, and Stiles' eyebrows knitted together questioningly as he continued to breathe in the medicated mist. "I can sense when you and Ize aren't feeling well," he explained as he moved on to rubbing Stiles' shoulders. "But when I'm exhausted things get…hazy. I even…I used to be able to hear your heartbeat clear across town when we lived in Beacon Hills. And your wheezing, but I didn't know…didn't put the clues together until you had that attack."

"You can hear my heartbeat?" Stiles whispered.

"Anyone in the pack's, but yours has always been the strongest," Derek shrugged.

"So you knew, back then. That you…"

"Had feelings?"

"Yeah."

"No. I thought you were annoying," Derek laughed. "Smart, yes. Witty and brave and selfless, as least when it came to anything that concerned Scott. But soul mate? No."

Stiles' shoulders dropped an inch in disappointment, to which Derek responded with. "Not sure how but you ended up stealing my heart, so…"

"Oh, so this is all…my fault?" Stiles laughed softly before going back to taking deep breaths of the medicine.

"Yep. And making you put up with me is my form of revenge," Derek smiled. "What was it that you guys used to call me?"

"Sourwolf," Stiles wheezed.

"I don't still make that face, do I?

"The…getting-real-tired-of-your-shit-Scott face?"

"Yeah."

"Sometimes. Although it's…become more of a getting-real-tired-of-your-shit-Stiles glare…now that Scott's 3,000 miles away." Stiles took a moment to take more inhales of the medication before asking, "How's he doing, by the way?"

"I'll tell you if you stop talking and do your treatment."

"Agreed," Stiles said before he leaned back with the mouthpiece secured between his lips, listening with his eyes closed as Derek filled him in on Scott's veterinary practice and Allison's work on a new exhibit at the Metropolitan Museum of Art.

"He misses you," Derek stated, to which Stiles just nodded as a means of saying 'me too'. "And said he's sorry he hasn't really been around lately."

Stiles was too busy breathing in the medicine to respond verbally, but Derek continued as if his husband had made a remark.

"Digitally. Said he's been trying to decrease his dependence on technology. Whatever that means." Derek shook his head and leaned back beside Stiles with a sigh. "I think it's just a load of bull, but then again you probably do, too." He felt Stiles lean his body against his on a small angle, deep, even breaths audible as the air moved through the plastic mouthpiece and Stiles' lungs, eyes still closed. They sat like that until there was no more medicine in the cup, sputtering noises coming from the machine. Derek switched it off with his toe and pulled the mouthpiece from Stiles' tired grip, tossing it on the table so that neither of them had to really move.

He thought that Stiles was sleeping when he heard a breathy "thank you" and felt warm lips meet his left cheek.

"Of course," Derek replied, whispering also, letting himself fall asleep now that he knew Stiles could breathe.


	17. Chapter 17

**Author's Note:**

Thank you to everyone who has kept up with TBH along the way! I read every review/comment and kudos. And thanks to Casey, as always, for spending so much time reading and editing the rough drafts that I send her. She truly is the best!

Is anyone interested in making an art piece for this story? Even just one drawing/edit that I could post as the "cover"? I think it would be a really cool collaboration to work together! Message/comment if you are interested! :)

* * *

"When were you planning on telling me about your promotion?" Stiles asked quietly from his place in the doorway, right shoulder leaning against the molding, arms crossed against his chest. Derek continued to rinse dishes in the sink as if he hadn't heard, face expressionless while he moved them over, one by one, into the open dishwasher.

"How was I supposed to tell you something like that when you're up half the night having some kind of anxiety-asthma attack about losing your job?" he finally asked once the sink was empty of dishes and pots.

"What, did you think I wouldn't find out?" Stiles moved from the doorway into the kitchen, arms staying put as he got closer to Derek. "And I haven't had an attack in like a week."

More like four days, Derek thought as he slid silverware into the rack of the dishwasher door. "Who told you?"

"I went to pay some of Isaac's hospital bills and I saw your direct deposit on the Chase account," Stiles sighed, letting his arms drop. "It was higher than usual. _Much_ higher."

Derek didn't want to look at Stiles, knew the regret surging through his own body was evident in the way his teeth were grinding together, jaw muscles tight. The sour taste in his mouth continued as he put a pouch of dish soap into the door, which he nearly broke as he slammed it shut against its frame. He started a cycle and leaned his palms against the countertop above the machine with a guilty sigh.

"I'm happy for you, babe. Really, I am." Stiles inched closer and Derek could hear his husband smiling as he spoke, but it only made him feel like one of his husband's first graders. Like he needed consoling after getting frustrated over something small. "I just don't like that you kept it from me." Derek felt arms slide around his waist from behind, but he pulled away towards the stove, the sudden contact making him tense up. "Sorry," Stiles sighed once they separated. "I, uh, thought that maybe that would help things, but I guess I misread the situation."

Derek closed his eyes and took a deep breath, hating that he'd pushed Stiles away before he could even stop himself. It was a reflex, one that he'd acquired after the fire when policemen and social workers had continually wrapped their fingers around his wrist or shoulder as a means of comfort. This isn't even a big deal anymore, he thought to himself. He knows now and he's not even mad. Weight's been lifted. Move on.

But all he could focus on at that very moment was his blatant stupidity; Stiles accessed that particular checking account now and then to pay bills and withdraw money for groceries and gas. Hell, the username and password for web access was taped to the side of the filing cabinet beside Stiles' desk in his office. Had he really thought Stiles wouldn't find out? Or had he just been trying to buy time, enough of it until things evened out and they knew where Stiles would be working in the fall? He then had a third thought: Maybe he'd wanted Stiles to bring it up because he knew it would be hard. Too hard, actually, to admit on his own.

Just like it was too hard to admit how afraid he'd been when Isaac had to go on the ventilator, something he knew nothing about at the time, and Stiles was falling apart in his arms, having an asthma attack of his own. He knew Stiles thought that his exhaustion from their week at the hospital was from anxiety, but Derek knew that fear was a better word for what he was experiencing. He'd never felt so paralyzed, physically and emotionally, at least since the fire, until that night. And he hadn't felt a reprieve, been able to take a single full breath, since.

"I don't want to fight, Der," Stiles whispered. "I just want to talk. We need to start doing more of that."

The pitter-patter of Isaac's footsteps into the kitchen for "more juice, pwease" interrupted them, Stiles too busy finding the jug of grape juice in the fridge and filling Isaac's empty sippy cup to notice that he was tugging at Derek pant leg.

"Hey, Ize," Derek said softly, taking a deep breath to combat the urge to pull away from the toddler's grip.

"Awe you sad, Papa?"

"No, baby. Just tired," he explained, faking a smile as he lifted Isaac into his arms.

"I tired, too," Isaac sighed sweetly, head falling on his papa's shoulder.

"Last juice before bed," Stiles said, handing the toddler his cup back. He took a few sips while in Derek's arms, pausing only to cough once. "When you're done we'll get your PJs on and do your treatment."

"I want Papa to read the dragon book!" Isaac said, looking up at Derek with wide, happy eyes.

"Again?" Stiles asked, knowing they'd read it at least a million times in the two weeks they'd had it; he was pretty sure he could recite it from memory if necessary.

The toddler nodded enthusiastically. "Pwease?" he begged, Derek's heart melting at the toddler's pout.

"Go and get your pajamas on. I'll be there in a few," Derek said as he let Isaac down, the toddler handing Stiles his cup with a quick cheer before running for the stairs.

"He's breathing better," Stiles said, filling the silence between them as he put the cup in the sink. Derek just nodded, leaning back against the counter as he crossed his arms. "You probably sensed that before me, though."

He had. It was getting easier to pick up on changes in breathing patterns and what different coughs and wheezes meant. He could even put the nebulizer together half-asleep, he realized, after Stiles suffered a mid-night attack that wouldn't let up with just his inhaler. It didn't make him feel any better about always being away, though, and knowing that those trips were probably going to increase in the near future weren't helping. It was going to get harder and he wasn't sure he could handle it for much longer, especially when his family seemed to get sicker when he wasn't there.

Because to Derek, everything had been feeling "too hard" lately. Even with Isaac running around the house, breathing free and easy in a way Derek had never sensed before, and Stiles' attacks lessening in frequency, he felt empty. Like he was running on nothing but exhaustion and coffee and he was going to crash and burn soon.

Stiles inched closer, a second attempt at making contact, Derek's body suddenly on alert. He skirted Stiles and walked out of the kitchen before his husband could even place one finger.

"Avoidance," Derek muttered to himself as he climbed the stairs to do Isaac's treatment. That was always one thing Derek was good at, and he hated himself more than anything for it.

x

"You thought I'd say 'no'," Stiles whispered as he brushed his fingers through Isaac's hair, the two on either side of the sleeping toddler in his DreamLite lit room.

"I didn't want to have to ask," Derek replied, tone hushed.

"You've wanted this promotion for two years, Der. I wouldn't have let you walk away from something that you-"

"Wanted. _Past tense_."

"But you took it anyway, so you _did _still want it."

"I took it to pay for Isaac's hospital bills and keep us afloat, just in case."

"You don't always have to be the hero, you know," Stiles whispered.

"That's not why I do the things I do."

"I know," Stiles said, and Derek could hear the smile in his voice. "And that's why I love you."

"I won't be home as much," Derek sighed before kissing Isaac's forehead and lifting himself slowly from the bed. "I shouldn't have taken it," he said, shaking his head. Stiles got up and followed Derek through the doorway, hand grabbing his just as they were about to enter their bedroom.

Stiles had expected to feel his husband's fingers slip past his as he pulled away, but instead he felt a squeeze, Derek turning to face him, head down, in the dark.

"It's okay to do things for yourself," Stiles promised, taking his other hand.

"I didn't do it for me, though. Things are different now…with Isaac…and I just thought that if anyone was going to have to take the burden of you losing your job it would have to be me." Derek's voice faded as he finished his sentence, hands still in Stiles'. "I don't mind working if it makes things easier for you and Ize."

"Babe," Stiles sighed, Derek placing one finger softly on his husband's lips to quiet him before he could continue.

"I was going to tell you when things settled down," he admitted. "I was…scared. _Terrified_, really, that if I told you it might make things worse."

Like my attacks, Stiles wanted to say, but Derek's finger was still on his lips.

"I wanted to protect you," Derek explained, pulling Stiles close against him. "You _and_ Isaac," he whispered before he replaced his finger with his lips, letting them part from Stiles' only to add, "My pack."


End file.
